Vacation Time
by Twinings
Summary: Sometimes, you just need to get away. Unfortunately, that's easier for some people than others. CATverse 3.1
1. How to plan a vacation

Author's note: I do not own the Scarecrow. I do, however, very much own the Captain. And I think it's very unprofessional of me to continue writing myself into these fics. I'm going to blame it on BiteMeTechie, who inspired me with a challenge, and then made me giggle with a chunk of dialogue that I subsequently stole and stuck in here. Yay for that, yes.

That said, this is part of the CATverse. It follows BiteMeTechie's "Season of the Witch," but you can probably get the gist of it without reading anything that comes before.

To become instantly less confused about the timeline, visit www. freewebs. com/ catverse. html after removing the spaces.

* * *

Vacation Time

Working in Gotham, sometimes making enemies was unavoidable.

That didn't exactly make it any better when the unavoidable occurred.

Jonathan Crane dashed through his lair like a long-legged whirlwind, throwing anything and everything into a bag, just hoping he had enough time to make his escape before one of them caught up with him.

And who was after him this time, you might ask?

It might be easier to ask who _wasn't_ after him. That was a much shorter list.

The Riddler, for example. The Riddler wasn't after him, although they weren't exactly on the same friendly terms they had been before Christmas. (One little accident with the fear toxin, a _minor_ dose, really, and suddenly Edward couldn't even sit down for a simple game of chess without breaking into a cold sweat and finding an excuse to go over to the other side of the room. A real shame. The Mad Hatter was the sort of player who could sit there for hours, just staring at the board, and few of the other inmates even knew how to play.)

So, the Riddler, yes. And there was probably _someone_ else he knew who wasn't actively trying to catch him or kill him. He couldn't think of anyone off the top of his head…

Making enemies in Gotham was the kind of mistake not many people managed to make more than once.

Well, he was just lucky, now, wasn't he? Even the neighborhood dogs had taken to chasing him when he ventured outside.

It was definitely time for a change of scenery.

He took one last look around the lair. There was nothing else here that he couldn't live without. Time to go. He still had some time; he could make it if he ran.

And if there was one thing he was good at, it was running.

He opened the door, and stopped short.

There were three women standing in front of them, one with her hand raised to knock.

It was all he could do to keep from slamming the door in their faces.

"Oh," said the one who had been about to knock. "Hi."

"Hi," echoed the woman on her right.

"Hi, Squishums," breathed the one on the left. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the three of them, with special loathing reserved for this last one, the stranger.

"Al, Captain, what are you doing here, who is _this_, and why have you been teaching her your ways?"

"Techie," said the Captain. "She's cool, trust me. You'll like her much better than either of us." He raised an eyebrow.

"_Trust_ you? You swore you would never come near me again. And you said you would keep _her_ in line," he said, glaring at Al, who looked terribly embarrassed.

"Squish—" The Captain made a warning sound. "Scarecrow," Techie amended. "I'm sure you don't remember me, but you fear gassed me at the Christmas party. I mean, you gassed _everybody_, so I'm sure you don't remember me, but I remember _you_."

"I was _startled_," he said slowly. Al let out a nervous little giggle.

"Um…yeah. My bad." He stood there for a few seconds, waiting for them to explain their sudden appearance on his doorstep. They all just stared at him in a decidedly creepy fashion.

"Well, if you want revenge, you'll have to wait in line like everyone else. Now, I'm afraid I'm in a terrible hurry." He flapped his hand at them, hoping they would scatter like a flock of birds. No such luck.

"But, that's why we're here," said the Captain.

"We heard you were in trouble," Al added.

"And you came to rub it in?" He scanned the street, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He might still have time to make his escape…

"No! We want to help you," Al said. He scowled at her. "Really! No kidnapping, no straitjackets, nothing like that. We just want to help."

"I don't want your help."

"So? We want to give it. Come on, it's _March_."

"So?" What did March have to do with anything?

"So it's _March_," Al insisted. He just stared at her.

"Spring break," Techie clarified. "Have you ever seen a college town during spring break? Completely dead. Everyone goes to, I don't know, Aruba or something. Somewhere with sun and sand and a million other drunken college kids." The Captain nodded excitedly.

"Exactly! And _you_, sir, need a hiding place! Somewhere completely unexpected. And where's the last place _anyone_ would expect you to go?"

"Your house, I suppose," he said, trying to work through the winding paths of their skewed logic. Were they offering him the use of their house while they partied in Aruba? And how did this Techie fit in?

"Okay, what's the _second_ last place anyone would expect you to go?" Al prompted.

"I give in, fruit loop. Do tell."

"Um…" She stared at him, apparently awestruck. "Did you…did you just quote…_Rimmer_?"

"I really don't have time for this," he said, and started to push his way past them.

"Wait!" The Captain put a hand on his arm to stop him. After a look at his eyes, she was quick to take her hand away, giving him an affable grin instead. "Sorry. But you know you need a place where you can relax, where no one will think to look for you."

"You need a vacation," Techie added.

"In Aruba? No, thank you." He tried again to leave, physically pushing Al out of his way (and more than half hoping she would fall and break something important.)

"Not Aruba," the Captain said. "Longboat Key." The three of them stood firmly blocking his path. He considered gassing them, just to watch them twitch.

"Longboat Key. Of course. Why didn't I think of that?" There was someone coming toward them…damn. This did not bode well. He took a step backwards, bringing him a little closer to the putative safety of the door.

"It's in Florida," the Captain said, oblivious. "My grandparents have a condo, right on the beach, and I've been ordered to make use of it. Doesn't it sound great? The warm sand underneath your feet, the sound of waves singing you to sleep each night…the company of good friends. Don't you want to go to the beach with us?" She gave him an angelic smile, which was echoed by the other two. He took another step back, trying _not_ to imagine the three of them in bikinis.

"No. No, I don't. Now, go away."

"Come on, Jonathan. We'll put sunscreen on you and everything." He moved very carefully away from her.

"I don't think that's going to be a major selling point there, Cap," Techie whispered.

"Um…"

"We'll buy you a hot dog!" Al said triumphantly. The other two stared at her while he took another step closer to the door. Then Techie snatched his sleeve and started tugging on it.

"Please?" she said sweetly. "Please, please, please?"

"_That's_ not going to work," Al said. (He very briefly considered giving in just to spite her.) "You have to appeal to his baser nature."

Baser nature? No matter what she meant by that, he thought this would be a remarkably good time to extract his sleeve and slam the door in their faces. Unfortunately, although they were both staring at Al as if she'd grown an extra head, it hadn't occurred to Techie to let go of him yet.

"You guys are pervs," said Al. "I _meant_ that there will be all those people around. Unsuspecting, mindless geriatric beach bunnies just waiting to get gassed. Or blown up, maybe."

"Or both," Techie said thoughtfully, releasing his sleeve. He stepped away, into the safety of the building, and reached for the door. There was still time to make a run for the rear exit…

Although…she did have a point. It could be interesting to experiment on…

Wait, had she said _geriatric_ beach bunnies?

"All those poor old retired people," the Captain said sadly, fighting down a smile. "Most of the neighbors would be too deaf to hear the screaming, and too senile to notice when their friends went missing. I've always wanted to study the effects of terror in the elderly. Haven't you, Squishykins? And in between experiments, we can go swimming and bury each other in the sand."

"I can't swim," he said, and slammed the door in their faces.

xXx

"Time for Plan B," Al said calmly. "We drag him down to the beach, kicking and screaming."

"You _do_ remember what happened last time you did something he didn't like, don't you?" Techie said as the Captain shrugged her way out of her backpack and knelt to look inside it.

"Well, we'll make sure he's unarmed this time, of course," Al said impatiently. The Captain pulled out a notebook and started flipping through the pages.

"How are we supposed to make sure…is that math?" Techie asked, distracted by the Captain's notebook.

"Yeah. It's not mine." She started tearing out a page, slowly and carefully separating the paper from the rings, following the perforation with the kind of precision that could have made a computer weep with envy. She was clearly a woman with a healthy respect for the mighty spiral-bound notebook.

"Why…why do you carry around someone else's math?"

"It's better not to ask," Al said. The Captain rolled her piece of paper into a tight cylinder and used it to whack Al on the nose.

"Bad monkey!" _Whack._ "No more kidnapping!" _Whack._ "Be nice to the Squishykins!"

"I _am_! And if you hit me with that again, well, good luck getting your notebook removed from your colon. I hear that involves very delicate surgery."

"Well, I heard…that…you suck," the Captain retorted. "Wow…and I'm supposed to be the wordsmith."

"Hey, does that guy look suspicious to you?" Techie asked, cautiously pointing out the man who was approaching the Scarecrow's hideout with a visible aura of nonchalantness.

"Hey, I know that guy," said Al. "That's Not Joe. Let's go beat the crap out of him!"

"Yeah, that'll make the Squishmeister love us," the Captain said with a laugh. Al shrugged.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Captain. I just want to beat up on someone who deserves it for once. Any hypothetical squish-lurve is just an added bonus." Then she smiled. "But it can't hurt to show him how useful we would be in collecting test subjects, now, can it?"

They all grinned.

The retirement community would never know what hit it.

This spring, the Gulf of Mexico was going to run red with the blood of the senile.

It was going to be the best spring break ever.


	2. How to get a job interview

Telling them that they were like kitties had definitely not been a good idea. Once they finally got over their demented giggles over the fact that he had actually _said _the word "kitties," all three of them had started purring and rubbing up against him, doing things with their hips that he wouldn't nearly have expected, and urging him to call them Julie, Eartha, and Lee (although they wouldn't explain why.)

But they _were_ very much like cats. They had that same odd sense that compelled all pets and babies to crawl straight into the lap of the one person in the room who least wanted to be touched.

And then they had brought him a "present" in the form of a bloody, half-dead thug…dropped it on his doorstep and waited expectantly for their praise…

And he had gone and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head, and now they were _touching_ him. At first he just stood there, stiffly, waiting for them to stop circling, but when Al's hand strayed a little too close to a sensitive area, he swatted her away and put some distance between himself and the crazies.

"You've made your point," he said. "Stop touching me."

"We're just marking you with our scent, to establish ownership," the Captain teased. "Meow."

"Be glad we're female," Techie added.

"I would rather be urinated on than have to deal with you," he said, glaring at Al.

"So why did you let us in?"

"Because of that," he said, pointing at the semiconscious man on the floor. Al giggled and held out her arms to him. "What? What do you want?" She wiggled her fingers and smiled sweetly. He took a step back.

"Come on, admit it. You love us."

"I do not!"

"Don't force the issue, Al," the Captain cautioned.

"No, force it," Techie argued. "I want my squish-lurve." She struck the same pose as Al, holding out her arms for a hug. He took another step back.

"Hopeless," the Captain muttered. "Just pat them on the head, Professor Crane, and they'll back off."

"No." Al and Techie looked disappointed, but they didn't give up hope. In fact, they moved a little closer, arms still outstretched.

"We just want to hug you and squeeze you and call you George."

"Well, I want to call you Scooter," Al added. The Captain rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, Professor. A pat on the head should do the trick."

"No. Why can't you people understand this? I don't want minions, and I don't like you."

"But you _need_ minions, Scooter…Scooterikins," Al said. He brushed her hand away from his shoulder.

"No, I don't." She pouted.

"What about bodyguards? You've got people who want to kill you. Wouldn't you like to have a few allies to watch your back?" He batted her hands away, only to find himself crowded by Techie and the Captain, who had bowed to peer pressure and was now presenting herself for affection.

"I don't see allies or bodyguards. I see three women who have done nothing but annoy me and slow me down."

"We brought you Not-Joe."

"Yes. Very impressive. Now, bring me three more just like him, and I might consider your offer." Their eyes widened. He immediately regretted his choice of wording.

"Yes, my master," the Captain said cheerfully, and ran for the door.

"At once, Lord Squishykins." Techie followed after her.

"No hug?" asked Al.

"No hug."

"Oh, all right." She ran after her friends, leaving him alone with the specimen bleeding on his floor.

They wouldn't outlast everyone who would be coming after him, but they could buy him some time.

He put on his mask.


	3. How to Charleston

_Fic!Captain's Log, Stardate: Monday-point-fifteen._

_We've all ganged up on the Captain. Techie and I held her down while Al rammed this idea into her brain. It was great._

_Speaking of Techie, she's written a sequel for us! It's called Headstones of Henchgirls, and I would now like to formally induct it into the canon. Reading it would be a good idea, oh yes._

_Fic!Captain out.

* * *

_

They weren't gone nearly as long as he would have expected. He had barely begun work on the one they called Not-Joe when the next knock came at the door.

"What's the matter? Giving up already?" he asked as he opened the door. Then he froze.

Al and the Captain were holding large, wriggling sacks. And Techie had a purple hatbox.

"We come bearing gifts," said Al.

"Wondrous gifts, Lord Squishums."

"Just like Melchior, Balthasar, and, um, Galadriel," the Captain finished. "Um…not that I'm trying to compare you to Jesus, or anything. I mean, that would be crazy." Whatever was in her sack let out a muffled yell. "Can we come in?"

"Oh, please do." He stood aside for them. "But don't think this changes anything. I said three."

"But—" Techie began, raising her hatbox.

"I meant _alive_. What's the point of questioning an already-dismembered corpse? You can't exactly teach it to do tricks."

"I still think you'll be pleased with our haul," the Captain said, straining with the effort of dragging her writhing burden into the room. (It was either a very angry man, or an awful lot of kittens.)

"Well, what did you bring me?" he said with a sigh.

"New toys!" (He considered. It was still not too late to gas them.)

"Me first, me first!" The Captain tore open her sack, revealing a man he knew only slightly, one who made a habit of working for Scarface, so he couldn't possibly be that bright.

"What's going on? Who are you people?" he demanded in true clichéd fashion. And the Captain cracked up.

"Where are you? In the Village. What do we want? Information. Whose side are we on? That would be telling. We want information. Information! _Information!_ (We won't get it?) By hook or by crook, we will. Who am I? I am 3.0. Who is Number One?" She cackled.

"What is she babbling about?" Al whispered to Techie.

"What are we going to do with him, Master?" the Captain asked, overriding whatever answer Techie gave, which was probably nonsensical anyway.

"We?" They all nodded eagerly.

"Teach us about fear toxin!"

"Teach us," Al and Techie chorused.

They _would_ focus on the one thing (other than his work as the Scarecrow) that he had ever really enjoyed.

"You want me to teach you?" They nodded again. "Why?"

"We want to learn. We've tried teaching ourselves, but that just isn't the same."

"We lurve you," Al added.

"Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

"You are the wind beneath my wings."

"If I let you gas this man, will you promise never to say that again?" he asked.

"Anything you want, Lord Squishykins." They dropped their cheerful grins when he shot them an irritated glare.

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry, sir." They looked up at him like three guilty little children, hands clasped behind their backs.

"All right, that's better. Go tie him up with the other one." Giggling, the Captain dragged her prize over next to Not-Joe, who was shaking and muttering to himself about rats in the walls. "Well, Al, what did _you_ bring me?" the Scarecrow asked. She giggled, but Techie interrupted before she could answer.

"Come on, aren't you even the least bit curious about why I'm holding a hatbox?" He glared down at this newcomer, trying to decide whether or not she deserved his hatred by association.

"Is it something interesting?" She nodded vehemently. "Okay, I'll bite. What's in the hatbox?"

Grinning, Techie whipped off the lid of the box, revealing the disembodied head of Mr. Freeze.

"Wow," said Al. "Now, that's a glare! Are you taking notes, Squishykins? If you could look like that, I would never dare poke you again." He glared at her. "Nope, that's not doing it for me."

The Captain squeed.

"I should give him to my dad. For his collection," she said.

"Your father has a collection of heads?"

"Just a little one." Well, that might explain a thing or two about her mental stability. She poked Mr. Freeze's glass helmet.

"I'm going to kill you," he said.

"How? Mr. Head-in-a-Jar, what are you going to do?"

"He can't actually do anything to us…can he?" Al asked. Techie rolled her eyes.

"You think I go by Techie just because it sounds like Trekkie? Trust me, it's taken care of."

"Prove it," Al demanded (in a matter that, he had to admit, seemed rather…rehearsed.)

Techie set the box down on the ground and fished a remote control out of her pocket. At the press of a button, the head sprouted metal spider legs and climbed out of the box.

Mr. Freeze looked grimly determined to pretend there was nothing wrong as his helmet scuttled, crablike, across the floor.

"Any requests?" Techie asked.

"Make him dance."

"What happened to the suit?" the Scarecrow asked as Techie made Mr. Freeze do a sprightly jig. (It was nice to watch them torture someone else for a change.)

"Robot body? It's in an alley somewhere. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Just curious."

"Make him sing," Al said.

"How? I control the suit, not the brain inside. And I don't think asking nicely is going to do it."

"Aww…" Al looked terribly disappointed until the Captain put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Every Snow Miser needs backup singers," she said.

And they burst into song, all three of them, singing at the top of their lungs while Mr. Freeze pirouetted in the forefront. Of course. It was the inevitable conclusion to a logical progression.

And there was only thing, logically, that he could do about it. He lounged against the wall and watched the show.

"He's mister white Christmas, he's mister snow," they sang, loudly and a little off-key. "He's mister icicle, he's mister ten below!" Al and Techie fell silent. Techie was busy with some complicated footwork that would have put Michael Flatley's head to shame, and Al was busy doing snazzy jazz hands to focus attention on the Captain, who had apparently just been granted a solo.

"Friends call me Snow Miser," she belted operatically. "Whatever I touch turns to snow in my clutch!" They all joined in for the last line.

"He's too much!"

Techie set the helmet to spin while the three of them formed a kickline behind him.

"I never want to see a day that's over forty degrees! I'd rather have it thirty, twenty, ten, five and let it freeeeeeeeze!"

Techie made Mr. Freeze join in the can-canning. If frozen blood could boil, he would be about to blow his top.

They went through the chorus one more time, and ended up in Charlie's Angels poses, with Mr. Freeze in front, metal legs spread in a pose that said, "ta-da!"

They waited, expecting applause. He didn't move, but he let himself smile—only because they wouldn't see his face.

"Tada?" Techie said hopefully.

"They don't work for me," he said to Mr. Freeze, who looked like he was about to explode.

"So we didn't pass the audition?" They all gave him the sweetest little puppy dog eyes he had ever seen.

"No."

"Well, we still have one more chance, right?" Al said brightly. She went over to untie her sack.

"I doubt you've captured anything that can top a tap-dancing head." Techie went back to fiddling with the remote control, making Mr. Freeze do the Charleston.

"Well, if you don't want to see it," Al began.

"Oh, just quit the mind games and show it to me."

"Touchy, touchy." She tore open the sack to reveal…

Robin, the Boy Wonder, bound and gagged and clearly frightened.

"Robin? You've captured _Robin_?" The boy flinched at the sound of his voice. Al grinned.

"I know, he's kind of shrimpy. I thought about throwing him back, but…"

"Where's Batman?" the Scarecrow interrupted.

"What?"

"Batman. The Dark Knight. The Caped Crusader. You know the one. He isn't the type to send his children into danger alone. Where is he? Did you see him?"

"No. The kid was alone."

"Just because you didn't see the Batman doesn't mean he wasn't there. Now he's sure to drop in at the worst possible moment."

"Nice going, Al. You got us in trouble," the Captain muttered.

"Well, what was I supposed to do? He's not exactly Joe Suckface from the Henchco temp agency. If you see Robin wandering around your boss's evil lair, you've got to take him down and that's all there is to it."

"I'm not your boss. You don't work for me."

"_Yet_," she said blithely. He turned away from her, completely frustrated and considering how best to shake the crazies and make his escape before Batman showed up to make a bad day worse.

"What should we do with him, boss?" the Captain asked.

"I'm not your boss, and you can do whatever you want. I don't _care_," he snapped. For a second there, she looked as if she might cry. He took a step back, lest she decide to start leaking on him.

"You must have something you've been wanting to do to Batman's sidekick," said Al.

"No. Nothing."

"Make him dance," Techie suggested. Al prodded Robin with her foot.

"How about it, Twinkle Toes? You want to dance for us?" The Boy Wonder tried to squirm away from her—an impossible task, the Scarecrow was sure. Al was good with knots, and she didn't like to make it too easy for her captives to escape. (At least she hadn't used the ball gag on _him_.) "There's no business like show business, like no business I know!" Robin was less than thrilled with her singing.

She kicked him again.

"Don't torture the Boy Wonder," the Captain said.

"I'm not torturing him. I'm poking him."

"It's the same thing. Isn't that right, Squishykins?"

"Yes. Yes, it is." He walked toward the exit. "You three are welcome to try to question him, but I wouldn't suggest traumatizing him too much. Batman might take exception."

"Are you leaving us?"

"Discretion is the better part of valor."

"But, what about us?" Techie asked mournfully.

"I don't care about you, any of you! Why don't you go to Central City and bother Ragdoll?" he said, choosing another villain at random. Al shook her head.

"Tried it. Snuttles is even harder to capture than you are."

"Snuddles," the Captain corrected.

"Snuttles. With a T."

"Snuddles, with a D!"

"Snuttles!"

"Snuddles!"

"Snuttles!"

"How do you spell Cuddles, Number One?"

He made it to the door while they were distracted by their argument.

"Wait, Squishums! You can't leave now!"

He really should have listened.


	4. How to make your own pinata

"Oh, hell," said Techie. Al and the Captain broke off their argument over the correct spelling of Snuddles (Snuttles! Snuddles!) to see what she was looking at.

In his haste to get away from them, their Squishykins had opened the front door without checking to see if there might be something worse out there.

"Worse" was a purely subjective term, of course…

"Hello, Jonathan. May I come in?" Poison Ivy purred.

The three of them shared a glance and then scurried for cover, taking Mr. Freeze with them.

"What do you want?" the Scarecrow asked, quite as if she were just a door-to-door evangelist he had to get rid of in time to get to work.

"She doesn't look too mad," Al whispered. "Maybe…"

"You stole my orchid!" Ivy screamed.

"Oh, she's mad, all right."

Ivy flung out her hand, and the floor under their feet split open as massive green jungle vines sprouted up into the room, reaching for the Scarecrow. One caught his ankles before he could run. Two more wrapped around his wrists and hoisted him into the air, leaving him hanging like Christ on the cross. He struggled futilely until more of the vines came along to envelop his entire body, holding him completely immobile.

"We _are_ going to help him, aren't we?" Techie whispered.

"Of course, but we need a plan."

Poison Ivy clenched her hand into a fist, the vines tightened, and the Scarecrow let out a cry of pain.

"Screw planning," said Al. "Let's kick her ass."

"What have you done with my baby?" Poison Ivy demanded.

"I needed it," he wheezed. "I can't...synthesize...the ingredients..."

"You plundered my garden for _that_?" She waved a finger at him, and a little tendril of vine came down to slowly pull off his mask.

"Al," the Captain whispered, "see if you can find her plant. If he didn't mangle it too badly, maybe she'll accept an apology. I'm going to call for our getaway car. Techie, can you make Mr. Freeze give her the beatdown?"

"He'll just tell her where we're hiding." A squelchy sound and an indignant, pained yelp made them all wince. "I'll chance it." She whipped out her remote and pointed it at Mr. Freeze.

Nothing happened.

"Oh. That's not good."

Mr. Freeze rose up on his metal legs and whacked Techie in the chest, throwing her out into the middle of the room - which came as a considerable surprise to Poison Ivy.

"Was that really necessary?" the Captain chided, backing away as he stalked toward her. Poison Ivy recovered her aplomb and laughed.

"Where did you get the minions, Professor? They're adorable."

"They're not mine," he groaned.

"Then you won't mind letting them pay for your crimes."

"Nothing would make me happier," he muttered as more vines sprouted to pin Techie to the ground. Another set of vines seized Al, binding her to the desk she had been trying to hide behind. And one more vine seized the Captain's ankle and lifted her into the air, dangling her upside-down above Mr. Freeze. Her glasses fell off as she flailed wildly.

"This is the last time I let you buy generic batteries," Al grumbled.

Poison Ivy strolled over to join Mr. Freeze in gazing up at the Captain.

"I take it you have a grievance with the Scarecrow and his girls, too."

"They're not mine!" Crane insisted. She paid him no mind.

"My grievance is with the girls," said Freeze. The Captain stopped flailing.

They had diverted the wrath of at least one of their master's enemies. They had managed to do at least part of what they had set out to do.

Then again, there were more enemies out there, and this situation didn't seem likely to end with them all surviving to call down more wrath upon themselves.

"You're welcome to them," Ivy said. "You can use this one as a piñata."

"Piñata?" the Captain cried. Mr. Freeze looked about as pleased as he ever had.

"Wait, wait! You can't break the Captain open with a stick!"

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Techie," the Scarecrow said.

"You do?"

"Of course. He couldn't possibly use a stick. No hands. I'm sorry, Freeze, but you're just going to have to make do with those steel legs of yours. I do hope they're pointed at the ends." The Captain laughed nervously.

"He's joking," she assured them. Mr. Freeze reached up to give her a little push that send her swaying back and forth. "You stop touching me!" He shoved her again. "Quit it!"

Poison Ivy sauntered back over to the Scarecrow with a smile that did not look at all promising for him.

"You hurt my baby, I'll hurt yours," she said.

"They are _not_ my 'babies.'"

"Oh, I believe you. But, for some reason, they seem inordinately fond of _you_." She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close enough for a kiss.

"Don't hurt him," the Captain yelled. Ivy smirked.

"See?" She let him go and turned to face the three hopeful henchgirls. "Why should you girls care what happens to him, anyway?"

"Because...he's..."

"Our father," Al supplied. Ivy chuckled.

"He is not. You'll have to do better than that."

"Well, he _could _be."

"No, he couldn't. I know; I can smell a virgin from a mile away." Al tried and failed to stifle her giggles.

"Is that true, Squishykins? Are you a virgin?"

"Stop poking me!" the Captain shrieked. (As Mr. Freeze had already turned away from her and taken a few steps toward Techie, it was safe to assume that her exclamation was intended as a distraction to spare her Scarecrow some embarrassment.)

"They really do like you. How sweet. Did you have to mix up a love potion, or did they come already brain-damaged?"

"We came this way. Now, leave him alone," Techie said.

"You have your own problems to worry about," Mr. Freeze said, glaring as he stalked toward her.

Poison Ivy pulled the Scarecrow down again and brushed her lips against his. He went limp.

They all started screaming, things to the effect of, "You bitch, you killed him!" and, "No, Squishykins, no!" although the Captain did offer some advice involving a fire extinguisher and an anatomically improbable position.

"Oh, he isn't dead yet, you dopey little fangirls." She grabbed a handful of the Scarecrow's hair and raised his head.

"What's going on? Is he okay?" the Captain asked frantically, squinting as hard as she could. Ivy let go of his hair, and his head flopped forward, limp and boneless.

"I'm going with no," Al said.

"Oh, he's fine," Ivy said. "For now, anyway."

"Well, whatever you did to him, it wasn't very nice. You could have at least left him conscious long enough to watch us die."

The cell phone in the Captain's pocket rang once, and then the roof fell in.


	5. How to fight like a starship captain

_Well, this is another fine mess we've gotten ourselves into_, Al thought as everything came crashing down around her. The vines made a peculiar sort of hissing noise and let her go, recoiling from the sudden intense heat. She rolled under the desk. It should save her from being crushed, but she recognized the sounds and smells of a burning building; she didn't know exactly what was going to save them from the fire.

_Firefly,_ she guessed. _Spiffy_. She had always dreamed of dying in an explosion, anyway, and she had been wanting to meet the flying pyromaniac. Of course, the scenario in her imagination had involved the two of them comparing notes, maybe setting fires _together_…

"Al? Still alive?" someone yelled.

"Yeah." She squirmed out from under the desk, staying low to the ground. Things had stopped falling, but now the room was rapidly filling with smoke, and wouldn't that just be great for her asthma.

She could just barely see the others through the smoke. Techie was on Poison Ivy, pinning her arm behind her back and making angry demands. And the Captain was valiantly struggling to free the unconscious Scarecrow from the vines that, though fully aflame, refused to let him go.

Crawling toward them, she managed to trip over Mr. Freeze and fall flat on her face.

"You did that on purpose," she muttered before she got a good look at him. Trapped under a piece of rubble, with fine cracks forming in the glass of his helmet, he actually looked _scared_. "Hang on, snowglobe. I'll get you out." She put her shoulder to the chunk of what had probably once been part of the wall, and shoved. It didn't move.

"Why...would you help me?" he asked.

"Because you're cool. Now, help me push, will you?" She threw her weight against the rubble again, and managed to raise it up a bit this time. He slid out from under it, and she let it fall.

"My thanks," he said grudgingly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just run for it, stumpy." Without waiting around to see what he would do, she started crawling toward her friends.

And then she saw Robin.

_Damn it. Can't very well let the kid die. Captain I-Want-a-Baby would never let it go._

She changed course to reach the Boy Wonder and cut through the ropes holding him.

"Don't tell anybody I helped you out," she said. "I've got to uphold my reputation as a heartless bitch."

"What about them?" he asked, looking at Not-Joe and the other guy, who were still tied up and quite likely to be burned alive. Al shrugged.

"That's where the 'heartless bitch' part comes in. Go ahead and save them if you want, kid, but you're on your own."

She left him behind, crawling toward the others.

"I said let him go or I'll rip your arms off and cram them down your throat," Techie yelled, slamming Poison Ivy's face into the ground. The Captain was literally hanging off the Scarecrow's arm, clawing at the vines with her fingernails and very creatively cursing someone's mother (whose, it wasn't quite clear.)

"Hey, she-bitch! Let him go," Al said. Poison Ivy smirked.

"I have a better idea." The vine holding the Scarecrow's left arm suddenly uncoiled, dropping the Captain to the ground. The rest of the vines lifted him up, into the smoke and well out of reach.

"You ass butter!" the Captain yelled.

The free vine dropped down, caught Techie by the waist, and lifted her off Poison Ivy's back. The plant woman got to her feet, moving as gracefully as if she had not just had a hellcat trying to beat her head into a new shape, and as lazily as if the building weren't burning down around her.

"What are you doing?" Techie asked, a bit nervously, as Poison Ivy moved closer—close enough for her pheromones to begin to take effect. Techie's eyes unfocused, and a silly smile spread across her face.

"He doesn't need all three of you," Ivy said, her voice a sultry whisper. "In fact, where he's going, he won't need anyone."

She reached up to pull the younger woman down to her level, pressed their lips together, and let her go.

"What, that's it?" said Al. "That was so anticlimactic!" Ivy shrugged.

"You wanted something steamier? There are no fanboys jacking off to this, you know."

"But, you…um…" She trailed off, staring at Techie, who had gone perfectly still and rigid. "Techie? You okay?" Were her eyes glowing green, or was it just a weird reflection off her glasses?

_That's biologically impossible._

"She's mine now," Poison Ivy said with a laugh. Then she frowned. "What kind of a name is Techie?"

"What kind of a name is Poison Ivy, you stupid bint?" Al shot back. "Give us back our Squishykins!"

"No. Techie, kill them." The vines released her, and she walked mechanically toward Al, her face absolutely expressionless.

"Oh, mind control spores," Al said brightly. "Oh, wait. That's bad." She dodged a blow that would have caved in her face. "Oh, come on. You aren't going to make me pull the whole, 'I won't fight you, you're my best friend and I don't want to hurt you so try to resist her' routine, are you?"

"If you can think of something better, feel free to try it," said the Captain. She picked up a chunk of wood that was burning merrily at one end, and took a swing at Poison Ivy. Al fended off a hail of blows from her erstwhile partner in crime.

She really didn't want to hurt her, but there wasn't exactly time for the delicate touch.

_Sorry,_ she thought with genuine regret as she started hitting back.

Not that she was doing much damage. Techie didn't seem to be able to feel pain in her current condition.

_Stupid crappy smegging mind control._

Oh, sure, it would be a fun power to use on certain…less conventional members of society. And Al was not at all above the simple pleasure of making two friends fight to the death for her amusement.

But this was just annoying. She had things to do, things that did not involve dying in the Scarecrow's lair. (Unless he had been the one to kill her. That she would have accepted with hardly a grumble. Well, a little bit of a grumble.)

"Give him back!" the Captain shrieked, her voice sliding up into that hysterical range that only dogs could hear. "Give! Him! Back!"

Oh, like that was going to do any good.

"Come on, Techie, snap out of it." (Okay, so Al's strategy wasn't any better.) "Just think, what would Captain Kirk do? He wouldn't let a plant tell him what to do, would he?" That didn't work. "Well, he probably would. She is green, after all. And Kirk is a pansy."

Techie stumbled. Al stared at her. Had it been a fluke…or had she reacted to the insult, which was one Techie would have taken very personally if she had actually understood it. She tried to dredge up her very limited knowledge of the original Star Trek, and came up with nothing.

"I hate Shatner," she tried. Techie let out an audible growl. "Shatner sucks."

"He does not!"

Al glared at her companion.

"Not helping, Captain." _And why do you always pick the worst moments to be so slow on the uptake?_

Realization dawned on the Captain's face. She took another swing at Poison Ivy before she spoke up again, giving Al time to go down under Techie's weight as the other woman tackled her.

Oh, _ow._ She may have been famous for her hard head, but the rest of her wasn't nearly solid enough to take a hit like that and bounce back.

"Kirk fights like Lois Lane," the Captain yelled.

Looking up, Al could see the change in Techie's face, a tensing of the muscles around the eyes and a twitch of the lips echoing Al's own bark of laughter at the absurdity of the statement. (She could just imagine James T. Kirk in a miniskirt, being flown up into the sky in Superman's arms.)

So Techie was aware in there, and she was fighting the mind control. All well and good, but at this rate, Al didn't think she was going to be alive by the time her friend regained control of herself.

And then, something shiny came winging out of the darkness. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Poison Ivy drop. The Captain took one solid whack at the plant woman's ribs (a sure sign of her undying animosity, as even Al had to wince at the _crunch_ of wood on bone) before she dropped her beating stick and ran over to help Al, the two of them wrestling Techie to the floor together.

Then, to Al's surprise, Robin appeared at her side. He took something from his utility belt.

"Give her this," he said. "She'll be okay in a few minutes."

Al raised an eyebrow.

"You mean you just happen to carry around a mind control spore antidote? That's…convenient."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Number One," the Captain warned. The boy looked up at them, innocent as can be.

"What? She just escaped Arkham. Shouldn't I be prepared to fight her?"

"Yeah," the Captain added. "It's not like the kid's carrying shark repellent."

At that, Al gave in and forced the capsule into Techie's mouth. After all, she didn't expect Robin would think to seriously harm them.

"Where's—Scarecrow?" she asked, just barely avoiding revealing his nickname to the enemy.

"Still caught in the vines. If I get him down, can you help me get him out of here?"

"Of _course_ we'll help you," the Captain said a little too cheerily. "Come on, let's get him down." Like the best of friends, they bounded off into the smoky distance.

Al stayed with Techie, wondering how she _always_ managed to fall into the role of caring for the sick friend. That was supposed to be the Captain's forte, and yet _she_ was always merrily running off to cause more havoc, oblivious to the destruction all around her.

"What…the…hell?" Techie muttered. "Did I just…Al? Did she kiss me?"

"For the mind control thing. You'll be okay."

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to…hit you."

"Don't worry about it, Tech. How do you feel?"

"High as a kite." She closed her eyes.

A heavy thud startled Al into looking up. There on the floor, unconscious and looking much the worse for the wear, was the Scarecrow. And next to him knelt the Captain, beating him silly with his own hat.

Al's protective instincts flared up, urging her to beat the living crap out of her Captain, friend or not. She had actually risen to her feet before she realized that the Scarecrow's sleeve was on fire, and the Captain was only trying to beat out the flames.

Well…it still wasn't cool to hit him with his hat.

"Is he okay?" she asked anxiously.

"He's not breathing too well. We've got to get him out of this smoke."

Al turned around to check on Techie, and found Robin crouching there, looking up at her expectantly.

"What?" she asked.

"Poison Ivy."

_Poison Ivy? Oh, come on!_ But she didn't feel like listening to the "we can't leave her here to die" speech she knew must be coming.

"Fine, I'll help you get her out. Techie, help the Captain." She might not be too steady on her feet, but she should be up for dragging the Scarecrow out into the fresh air.

Al glared at the boy who was looking up at her as if he actually trusted her.

_Heartless bitch,_ she repeated like a mantra. _I am a heartless bitch._

_I _am.


	6. How to play baseball in five easy steps

Rosemary Green—who saw no reason not to use her real name, even though Sarah insisted on calling her Sunshine—sat in the Bat-Blazer, drumming impatiently on the steering wheel. She had made the mistake of referring to it simply as Al's car once, and had been loudly corrected. That was when she had learned that, with these girls, _everything_ had a nickname.

The Captain (so hard to remember to think of her that way) had insisted that she take on an alias as well—and that their old nicknames for each other (Dark Knight and Boy Wonder) would not make them any friends in this particular situation. So Sunshine she had become, at least for the next few days.

She was going along with the plan, really, she was.

But she was more than a little irritated at being told to wait in the car.

She could understand the need for a lookout and a getaway driver. She could understand that if one unfamiliar face might be enough to scare off their target, two would undoubtedly send him over the edge. She could even accept that, as the one with the least experience with this kind of thing, if the plan went all to hell, she would probably just be in the way.

But, damn, she felt useless just sitting there.

_I didn't come all the way to Gotham just to wait in the car._

Her first indication that the job of lookout might be more than just a way to keep her occupied came when Poison Ivy (instantly recognizable by the greenish tint of her skin) popped up out of the ground (like a daisy!) near the front door of the Scarecrow's lair. Rosemary picked up her cell phone to warn the Captain.

She was too slow. Before she had finished the text, the door opened, and Poison Ivy sauntered in as if she owned the place.

_Good job, lookout!_ She scanned the building anxiously, but had no way of knowing what was going on in there.

_Oh, crap._

Too late to pass along the warning now. And she didn't want a ringing cell phone to give away her friend's location if she was hiding.

Then again…

There was someone flying over the building. The others would have recognized him on sight, but all Rosemary could think was, _It's definitely not Superman._

She could only assume that this floater was another threat. Screw caution; she sent the Captain a message to that effect just before he proved her right by pulling out a very large gun. She watched in horror as he shot a stream of liquid at the building, which promptly exploded.

"Shoot-a-monkey," she muttered to herself.

_Now_ what was she supposed to do? How were they going to get out of this? _Could_ they get out of this? Sarah had come a long way since high school, but…but…the building was on fire! And what could Rosemary do about it? If she tried to get in there to help them, she would never get past the man who was still happily feeding the flames.

But she had to try. They were never going to get _out_ with the fire man watching what was left of the exits.

Was there anything in the car that she could use as a weapon?

No, of course not. Why would they give her a weapon? It wasn't like she knew how to shoot a gun, anyway. And a woman with a shotgun wasn't going to command much respect from theme villains, anyway.

But it would have been a lot more satisfying than just chucking hermit crabs at the guy.

Not that she intended to do that. Al and the Captain would never forgive her for hurting their baybehs, which were back home in Alabama under the care of those two guys, anyway.

But she _couldn't_ just run at him unarmed. For crying out loud, she was not prepared for this. She had been prepared to spend the rest of her life under the mountains of paperwork in the public defender's office until her old friend had appeared on her doorstep and _demanded_ that she join her for a vacation on Longboat Key.

She loved her dear Captain, and she had fond memories of that beach, but she hadn't quite managed to explain that she wasn't overjoyed with the Captain's lifestyle. Wandering around one of the most dangerous cities in the world, stalking a man who destroyed people's minds as a hobby, fighting villains so powerful they could step on an unassuming little law student like Rosemary and not even notice what was stuck to the bottom of their shoes…

It wasn't her idea of a good time.

But she got out of the car, anyway.

There must be _something_ around here she could throw at him. All these old buildings were falling apart, spilling their guts and bones across the sidewalk…

She picked up a brick, judged the distance, and thought the better of it. All those years coaching her baby brother's little league team had left her with a pretty good arm, but if she threw a brick straight _up_, it was only going to come straight _down_—on her. There had to be something else.

A gargoyle?

One of the nearby buildings had been constructed with a rather unusual set of drainspouts that would not have looked out of place in Notre Dame. A century ago, it must have been impressive. Now, if was just rotting. How stone could rot, she wasn't quite sure, but this building was doing its darnedest which left plenty of little bits and bobs scattered across the sidewalk. She sidled over and picked up a piece of cracked stone.

Rosemary stared at the ugly little stone head in her hands. It wasn't much bigger than a baseball, or very much heavier. Well, why not? The worst he could do was set her on fire.

She hurled the thing at the villain's back and dove for cover, in spite of the temptation to watch the results of her labor.

_She who fights and runs away…_

A panicked yell lured her out from behind the Bat-Blazer in time to see the villain streaking across the sky, spewing fluids from his jetpack.

_Lucky shot, Rosemary._

But a good one, nonetheless. She watched his progress until he slammed into a brick wall and dropped to the ground like a stone. He didn't get up.

She hadn't _killed_ him, had she? That would be quite the stain on her otherwise spotless record.

She hesitated by the front right tire of the Bat-Blazer, debating the wisdom of going to check on him. Walking that far would take time, and she didn't want to abandon her post.

But she didn't want his death on her hands, villain or not.

She was so not cut out for this. She was no angel, but she wasn't…a villain. How had this happened, anyway? Her friend had been known as Mouse or simply "that shy girl" for as long as Rosemary had known her. And now she was throwing herself into battle with some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and actually trying to make friends with one of their number. That wasn't the Mouse she knew. Her old friend had been sane.

And sane, this was clearly not.

Rosemary picked up a brick and held it close to her chest as she sprinted toward the downed supervillain. She wasn't going to have to throw this one, so she could be a little less discerning, opting for mass over aerodynamics.

And hopefully, no one _else_ would show up while she was gone.


	7. How to lie to yourself and others

The man on the ground showed no sign of moving as Rosemary cautiously approached, brick at the ready. Much as she wanted him to be alive, part of her was sure he was going to pull the typical horror movie monster routine and pop up to menace her again the moment she let her guard down.

If there was one thing she had learned, it was that evil never died. It just took a break until the production values improved.

She didn't even know who he was. It was a little disorienting to creep up on a guy, prepared to bash his brains in, when she couldn't put a name to a face, because she didn't have either. He did have an interesting mask, though; she doubted she was going to forget _that_ any time soon. It was even kind of pretty, in a weird way.

And he still wasn't moving.

She nudged him with her foot, brick still at the ready. He groaned and pulled away ever so slightly.

Good enough! She dropped her brick and ran back to the Bat-Blazer. The 911 call could come later, when they were safely away from this place. For now, as long as she knew he was still alive, she was more worried about her friends than him.

And they were coming out. She blinked in surprise. The Captain and Techie were supporting a man between them with his arms draped over their shoulders. His head was hanging down—he looked completely limp, and they seemed about to drop him.

Hastily, Rosemary started the engine and drove up to meet them.

Was _this_ who they had come to Gotham to get? He was almost a disappointment. For one of the greatest villains in Gotham, he wasn't very…big. And he wasn't especially good looking, either. She had been expecting some kind of Greek god, or at least a male model, to have captured the Captain's attention for so long, but this man was just…just a man. Underfed, poorly dressed, and not likely to send _her_ into a state of abject fear—and she wouldn't exactly have called herself the epitome of bravery.

"I'm sorry," she said as the Captain opened the car door. "I didn't see them in time."

Her friend looked stressed, but replied, "No harm, no foul. Listen, Sunshine, just play along."

"What?" The Captain jerked her chin over her shoulder to indicate the doorway behind her. Rosemary looked up to see Al exiting the building, dragging Poison Ivy, assisted by—Robin?

This day was just getting weirder and weirder.

"So, I guess you'll be wanting to get these guys to prison straight away," the Captain said cheerfully to the _actual_ Boy Wonder. "Want to use our car? This is pretty much all we had planned for the rest of the day, anyway."

The kid looked confused. Rosemary didn't blame him.

"I…um…why did you…"

"Capture you? Come on. What better way to get you into the lair? We can't all go running at the supervillains, waving our bat-sticks."

"_Eskrima_ sticks," Robin said, turning scarlet with embarrassment. "And thanks for the offer, but Batman's on his way."

At that, Techie, who had been looking entirely spaced out, flinched. Again, Rosemary could understand. Batman was a fine idol for an adventurous, law-abiding teenager, but the prospect of meeting him as an adult while in the middle of a borderline-villainous activity was a tad daunting, to say the least.

Al and the Captain managed not to show any fear, but they still looked uncomfortable with the prospect of meeting the Big Bad Bat. Yes, Rosemary decided that this would be a very good time for them to make their escape.

"Robin?" she said hesitantly. "That…man with the flamethrower…"

"Firefly," the boy supplied. Rosemary almost smiled. _Firefly?_ What a creative name. It sounded so pretty and harmless. Like Lightning Bug, Ladybird, or Bumblebee. It made him sound small and cute.

The villains were really having to reach, weren't they? Maybe all the good names were taken.

"Firefly," she repeated, testing the word. It didn't sound any tougher when she said it. "He's over there. His backpack thingy sprung a leak and shot him into a wall. I think he's hurt." She could see the others fighting not to laugh. Robin only looked concerned. And conflicted. The internal struggle was plain on his face—should he stay and make sure the villains made it into custody, or go and make sure Firefly didn't die or make his escape?

"Tell me you have batcuffs in that belt of yours," Al said. Robin nodded cautiously. "Good. Hand them over, will you? We'll take care of these. You go for the pyro."

"I don't—"

"Come on, kid. You have a belt full of gadgets. We've got nothing but our wits, and you saw how far that got us before."

Robin grinned, tossed her the handcuffs—the batcuffs—and ran off.

"Wow," said Rosemary. "You're good."

With a self-deprecating shrug, Al started cuffing the incapacitated supervillains to the railing next to the concrete steps—leaving Poison Ivy closest to the leaping flames—while Techie and the Captain shoved their friend into the backseat, and then climbed in after him.

"This day hasn't exactly gone according to plan," the Captain said. She wormed her way into the front seat and pushed her hair back from her face, leaving sooty streaks across her forehead. "I just want to get the hell out of here. Come _on_, Al; you don't really have to help the kid this much."

Al stood up. It took Rosemary a minute to realize that she wasn't moving toward the car; her eyes were focused somewhere above them, her expression rapidly turning to one of absolute terror.

Then she shrieked, "Drive!"

For a split second, Rosemary wondered what could possibly scare the unflappable Al enough to make her _shriek_. Then she caught sight of the shadow descending on them, and utterly froze up at the sight of Batman.

"Go," the Captain ordered. The urgent tone of her voice, coupled with the fact that she was willing to leave a man behind, startled Rosemary into hitting the gas. The Blazer roared off down the street.

_Batman! He's…huge._

This did not look good for Al.


	8. How to shatter glass

Al watched her friends—and _her car_—speed off into the sunset with mixed feelings. Granted, she had told them to go on without her, and if she had to die, it might as well be at Batman's hands, facilitating the Squishmeister's escape. But just because she had told them to go didn't mean she had actually wanted them to leave her…

Al favored Batman with her most charming smile. He didn't respond.

"Um, hi," she said. "How are you?"

He _loomed_ at her. She nearly lost her lunch.

"Who are you?"

(The phrase "gravelly doom" flashed through her mind.)

She opened her mouth, only to find herself at a loss for words. She couldn't answer him. How could she? What was she supposed to _say_?

She couldn't ignore a direct question from _Batman_.

But she couldn't possibly answer. For one thing, at the moment, she had no idea what the truth actually was.

So she ran.

It wasn't the smartest move she could have made. She recognized that even as she made it. But to stand and fight would have been even stupider. She wasn't the optimistic type, after all. She had no hope that he would go easy on her just because she was a girl.

A flap of the cape and the whistle of something heavy flying through the air warned her, but not in time to actually do anything about the batarang bola that wrapped around her ankles. She fell hard across the sidewalk.

_Smooth. Just don't panic._

"Come on, Batman, can't you take a joke?"

"_No_."

Wow. If she lived long enough to tell this story, she was going to be repeating that simple little word in the harshest demonic growl she could muster, and she still doubted she would come close to the menace that man could convey.

Gravelly. Doom.

"Bad choice of words?" She winced.

_Good job, Snarky. Be sure to make him think you're another little Joker._

He loomed over her, saying nothing. She couldn't help but think that this was going to end badly.

"Okay, I'm sorry I got in your way, but I didn't really do anything _wrong_." _Stop babbling. That's what he wants. Calm down and let _him_ ask the questions._

Batman said nothing. Aside from being incredibly unsettling, the quiet gave Al the chance to hear the sound of a very familiar engine approaching at high speed.

She started babbling again.

"What do you _want_?" She let her voice slide into a loud, high-pitched whine that, if she had heard it coming from anyone else, would have been cause for immediate and decisive violence. "I swear, I didn't do anything, nothing at all, I'm completely innocent, pure as the driven—" The moment he started to let down his guard, she kicked him away from her. "Slush."

She knew when she kicked him that she wasn't going to hurt him. She didn't even knock him back very far. But she did put enough distance between them that the Bat-Blazer (now a more ironic name than ever) missed her entirely.

She had expected Sunshine to clip him, not swerve up onto the sidewalk to hit him head on. Apparently, the Captain's little friend was more badass than previous estimates had indicated.

Al watched in mingled awe and horror as the Dark Knight went tumbling over the hood of her car. It helped that he looked every bit as surprised as she would have been.

That helped her mood a lot.

When the car door flew open, Al didn't wait to be beckoned inside; she was already scrambling toward them. She threw herself on top of the Captain, Techie, and the Scarecrow without bothering to remove the bola from around her ankles. She felt their hands hauling her inside even as the Blazer lurched forward.

"Drive! Drive like hell!" she yelled, not that Sunshine needed the encouragement. As they sped off down the street, the Captain started laughing.

"Oh, my God! We just ran down Batman!"

Al looked out the back window, praying that Gotham's protector was still in one piece, but down for the count.

Her prayers went half-answered.

"He's getting up! _Itte kudosai!_ Go, man, go!"

Making a sound that would have been of immense interest to the Scarecrow if he had been awake to hear it, Sunshine stepped down on the gas, leaving the Caped Crusader in the dust. The sounds coming from the engine hardly imparted much hope for the Bat-Blazer's long-term health, but that was the least of anyone's worries.

The Captain carefully unwrapped the bola from around her first mate's ankles and then sat back, braced for the explosion she knew was coming.

Al turned her attention away from the shrinking figure of the Bat, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"God damn shit eating pig fucking ball licking cactus humping drag wearing Dahmer idolizing masturbating crab killing monkey raping hippo thumping roadkill eating corpse loving chainsaw screwing donkey poker overweight son of a bitch MOTHERFUCKER." She took another deep breath. "He cracked my windshield!"

"With his face," Techie added.

Al started to giggle. Just a little. Then a lot. The giggles turned into full-blown maniacal laughter with more than a hint of hysterics.

"Batman—broke my windshield—with his _face_." The laughter cut off abruptly. "You know what this means? We're officially the bad guys!" She started laughing again as she climbed over the seat to examine the crack in the windshield up close.

On closer inspection, the windshield didn't look too bad. Sunshine, on the other hand, looked like she was about to fall apart. Surprised, Al stared at the younger woman. (Well, younger by about a month. It was still nice to have those feelings of superiority.)

"What's wrong with you?" she asked mildly. Sunshine took her eyes off the road to give Al a furious glare.

"I just hit a superhero with a car." She was starting to shake. Al recognized the signs of an imminent breakdown that would be far less amusing than her own harmless little bout of cursing and laughter. Maybe this wasn't the best time to remind her that Batman had no superpowers and therefore wasn't technically a _super_hero.

"Are you okay to drive?"

"Oh, I'm just fine. Everything's fine. I ran over Batman and that's just dandy."

"You didn't run _over_ him; he went over the top of the Blazer." Sunshine didn't respond. Al sighed. "Oh, come on, where's your sense of humor?" Sunshine still didn't respond. Al looked into the back seat for help. Techie was staring off into space, glassy-eyed, and the Captain was gently patting the Scarecrow's face, to no avail. Both useless. "Okay, first of all, take your foot off the gas."

"What?" Sunshine snapped.

"You need to find a safe place to pull over. We're going to need to check over Squishykins and make sure he ain't fixing to die, and then I'll take over driving. Okay?"

"What about _Batman_? I hit him with your _car_!"

"Yeah, you did. Good job. That ought to slow him down at least enough for us to cross the state line."

At that, Sunshine actually cracked a smile.

"Just...please don't ask me to take a shortcut through Metropolis."

Al grinned.

"Sunshine, you're all right."


	9. How to cuddle with a porcupine

It couldn't really be called waking up, the way he so-slowly became aware of the world. He couldn't see anything—whether because he was actually blind, or because he hadn't the strength to open his eyes, there was no telling. He couldn't hear anything past the ringing in his ears. He could feel nothing but an extreme sense of disorientation…

And fear. He was just lucid enough to know that he was helpless, that there was nothing he could do to save himself from whatever fate had in store.

That thought brought him a little closer to the surface, and to the realization that someone was holding him. Instinct screamed at him to fight free—avoid capture at all costs—but the attempt went badly. The slightest movement on his part set the whole world rocking under him, and suddenly, instead of holding him down, those hands were the only things holding him up.

Awareness blossomed. His mouth tasted like a truck stop bathroom, and his head…well, he'd had worse headaches, but only resulting from beatings so severe he'd been relieved to find his head still attached, and had hardly been inclined to focus on a single source of pain.

He whimpered, a reflexive sound that he would have taken back if he could. The soft murmuring sound that must have been there all along solidified into words.

"Hush now, _cher_, you're safe, it's all right…"

In the midst of that soothing babble, he was able to form his first coherent thought.

_Who's French?_

The accent wasn't foreign, but the word was. It struck him as vastly important, until his stomach churned, revealing exactly why his mouth tasted as bad as it did.

"Squishykins, sweetums, it's all right."

Different voice, same meaning. This one was low and soothing, rather than pitched high with worry, and its very familiarity made his skin crawl.

"Don't…don't touch me."

The voices fell blessedly silent for a few moments.

"Can you sit up on your own?"

"Don't care. Hands off."

The hands raised him up to a sitting position. He immediately regretted the decision to let himself be moved; he felt like he was stuck on a broken fair ride, swinging free twenty feet above the ground. The moment they let him go, he fell back against one of them. She held him steady, but didn't turn the gesture into a constricting embrace.

"Squishykins? I need you to look at me, okay?" It seemed like a reasonable request, and he was growing more and more curious about where they actually were. (He didn't hear water, so it couldn't be a boat…)

With far greater effort than he cared to contemplate, he forced his eyes open and did his best to focus on the faces staring down at him.

That was easier said than done. He knew, intellectually, that the world was as stable as it had always been, but being able to see everything dip and sway before his eyes only reinforced the feeling that any minute now, the ground was going to tip over and spill him out into the nothingness. It was dark—so dark, he couldn't make out anything of the women but the light of a streetlamp reflecting off their glasses. And he couldn't be completely sure in his current state, but there seemed to be one pair too many.

"How are you feeling, squish face?"

He followed the sound of the voice to the rimless ovals, and came up with the name Al.

"None of your business." His voice sounded weak and pitiful. He wished he could get up and tear her limb from limb.

"You know, if you wanted to scare us, there are easier ways to do it." That voice came from behind him, from the one who was supporting his weight as if it were both her duty and her right. Techie? Yes, that was what they had called her.

And why should she be afraid for him? Most likely, she just didn't want to have to associate with a dead body. He tried to sit up and take himself away from her physical presence. He failed utterly.

"Squishykins?"

"What?" he growled.

"Ooh, someone's feeling better. Why don't you drink some water? You need to flush some of that crap out of your system."

Part of him wanted to argue with that, just for the sake of disagreement. But his mouth felt as dry as a thousand deserts, and it tasted…he didn't even have a metaphor for how it tasted, but when someone put a bottle to his lips, he swallowed the water obediently.

It came right back up.

He just barely managed to turn his head in time to avoid splattering himself. He expected the girls to pull away from him in disgust, but instead they moved closer, stroking his hair and calling him "poor Squishy."

He felt bruised and sore, inside and out, and he couldn't bring himself to fight them when they made him lie down with his head in someone's lap. When that someone called him "my poor baby," he only groaned a soft protest. (No one had ever called him their baby, even when he'd been one.)

The nicknames increased in absurdity. ("Little lamb" would have made him laugh at any other time.) They kept petting him, fussing with his clothes, wiping his face with a damp cloth. All he wanted was for them to go away. But at the same time, a part of him was grateful that it was these two—three—four—however many there were—who had him, instead of an enemy. The very best he could have hoped for without their interference was to be dropped back into Arkham, and as bad as this was, that would have been worse.

"Squishy? Jonathan?" He realized that Al had been trying to get his attention for some time. He decided he didn't feel like moving enough to look at her. "Jonny-Jon-Jonny-Jon-Jon-Jon-Jon?"

"I'm not Jonny-Jon-Jonny-Jon-Jon-Jon-Jon," said the Captain. "He's Jonny-Jon-Jonny-Jon-Jon-Jon-Jon."

A hand closed over his, squeezing gently.

"Jonny-Jon-Jonny-Jon-Jon-Jon-Jon?"

"Don't," he muttered.

"Do you need to go to the hospital? We don't want you to die. We can find you a safe place."

"No," he groaned. No hospitals. No.

"Okay, that's fine. We won't make you. Do you have someplace you want us to take you? Somewhere you'll be safe?"

Did he? Was there anywhere he could go and truly be safe? He'd had plans in mind, admittedly vague, but he couldn't focus enough to remember what scanty details there had been. If he went to any of his usual places, any enemies who wanted to track him down would, sooner or later.

What was he going to do?

(As if it really mattered, when he could barely move.)

"Squishy? Jonathan? If you don't have anything better, we'd still like to take you to the beach. You can rest and relax, and I promise we'll take good care of you. Or you can use the house, if you'd rather be alone. But we'd rather stay with you, at least until you're well enough to take care of yourself."

"I don't…need your help." It was a lie. He knew it and they knew it, but it needed to be said.

"Stupid, we _want_ to help you. We like you. Do you want to try that water again?"

With a shudder, he turned his face away.

"Okay. You don't have to. We'll just stay here for a little while, and when you're ready, we'll get back in the car and go. And we'll take care of you. I promise."

Somehow, he didn't find that as comforting as she intended it to be.


	10. How to talk your way out of a ticket

It seemed to take forever, but at last, the world stopped spinning. At the first indication that he was ready to move, the girls hastened to get him up and moving toward the car.

At first, he wasn't quite sure why they were so worried.

Then the traffic cop showed up.

"What seems to be the trouble, ladies?"

Crane could feel his companions flinch.

(Companions? No, that would imply that he was with them willingly. He would think of a better word when his mind was in less of a fog.)

"Um…sorry, officer. Our friend had a little too much to drink."

He winced away from the flashlight beam suddenly shining in his eyes.

"I see. You girls haven't been drinking, have you?"

"No, of course not!" That was the Captain, sounding a little too vehement for her own good. Any idiot would have assumed she was lying.

"Young lady, aren't you a little young to be out partying this late?"

"I'm twenty-six!" she snapped, furiously. He could have told her _that_ wasn't the correct approach to take.

"Can I see some ID?"

His precarious equilibrium was utterly destroyed when the Captain shoved him away from her, into someone else's arms.

"Fine! Jesus H. Christ! You want my ID? Here!"

The someone who was currently acting as Crane's support moved him toward the car, ignoring his attempt to watch the show.

"Keep your head down," she whispered. "Captain can't keep the guy distracted forever." She waited for him to get settled, lying across the seat, and then closed the door on him.

He listened with some amusement as the Captain recited the alphabet backwards—flawlessly. The cop asked her to walk a straight line. She complained loudly as she did. He asked her to stand on one foot. She offered to rub her stomach and pat her head.

Then, assuming he heard correctly, she borrowed her friends' wallets and put on a juggling act while the others hummed calliope-style music.

Apparently, the cop was not amused.

"You're under arrest."

"Why?" the girls exclaimed, outraged.

A moment later, there was a heavy thud, and the next thing he knew, the girls were piling into the car, and with a squeal of the tires, they were off.

"Subtle, Number One!" the Captain yelled. "Beat him over the head from behind, 'cause _that_ won't put the cops on our trail!" She turned to Crane with a charming smile. "Do you need help with your seatbelt?" He waved her away.

"I'm not the one who ran over _Batman_," Al snapped back from the front seat.

Crane blinked.

He could not possibly have heard that right.

Could he?

"You ran over Batman?" he said dubiously.

"Um…yeah. That was me," said an unfamiliar voice. He looked past the Captain at the young woman sitting on her left side. She waved nervously. "Hi. I'm-"

"Sunshine," the Captain interrupted.

"I was gonna say!"

"She's the last one, we promise," Techie said, twisting around in her seat to look at him.

Since his glare seemed to have no effect on Techie, he turned it on "Sunshine" instead. _She_ was clever enough to shrink back a bit from the obvious threat.

She looked like a fairly ordinary woman, aside from the company she kept. He certainly wouldn't have expected someone like her to be the one who defeated the Bat.

"Is he dead?" he asked.

"I don't think so," she said, looking anguished. And he was willing to bet she wasn't upset by the thought of failure. His respect for her dropped back down to acceptable levels (somewhere between zero and "B student.")

"Well, if _he_ didn't get our tag number, you can bet that cop did," Techie said, sounding far more nonchalant than he would have been in her place. "So we're pretty much screwed either way. Ready to go out in style?"

Apparently, that was code for, "Let's put in a CD and sing along at the top of our lungs!" Once again, he was treated to their very energetic musical stylings. Without a tap dancing head, it was far less amusing.

He spent the next several _hours_ glaring at the Captain, since she was closest, just daring her to dance her way into his lap and give him an excuse to slit her throat.

To be fair, she did her best not to touch him, even accidentally. She was much more conscientious than Al had been that day…had it been five years ago already? His little stalkers had kept their obsession going much longer than he would have expected.

He recognized the mistake of judging these women (and their _friends_) by the standards of sanity, even as he continued to make it.

But the Captain was making a conscious effort not to bother him, and he appreciated that, he really did. It was why she was still alive and able to form coherent sentences not based around the words, "help me."

But even lucidity had to come to an end sometime. As the night wore on, everyone got very quiet (putting an end to the show tunes) and the Captain passed out cold, falling asleep between one lightpost and the next with her head leaned back and her mouth hanging open, a position she surely would have found mortifying if she had been aware.

He waited a few minutes to see if she was going to drool, and when she didn't, he turned his attention to the road. If the person closest to him was sleeping, it might be safe for him to close his eyes, if only very briefly.

He blamed his drowsiness on lingering traces of Ivy's poisons in his system, and not on any sense of safety or comfort. After all, he could never completely relax with Al around. There was no telling what she might decide to do to him if he let his guard down. And he couldn't entirely trust the Captain, in spite of the fact that she seemed to consider it her sacred duty to defend him from all threats, including her overzealous companions. The other two had not proven themselves either way, but given the company they kept, he was not inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt.

What was he doing with them, anyway?

Well, they _had_ saved him from a large and determined group of enemies, a fact for which he was not at all grateful, as it meant that he now owed them his life. They were sure to expect payment in one form or another, and knowing them, they would demand it at the worst possible moment, just to make his life that much more difficult. Still, whatever humiliating torments they had planned for him were probably less…fatal than the end he would have met in Gotham. And with them, he had the promise of food and warm weather.

Still, he couldn't even begin to trust them. Sleeping deeply was out of the question, but napping for a few minutes might not result in his imminent doom as long as he had an unconscious human shield at his side. It was probably safer than tiring himself out waiting for a more secure situation that might never come.

He had just made up his mind to steal a brief nap while he still could, when Al went around a curve in the road, and the Captain toppled over to rest against his shoulder. He nudged her back into an upright position, noting that Sunshine was watching him with a very amused expression on her face. He gave her a glare that wiped away the smirk and made her turn her eyes to the front.

The Captain groaned, shifted position, and slid down to rest against his shoulder again.

This was clearly not going to work out. He tried moving away from her. Without his shoulder for support, she ended up slumped over with her head in his lap, clutching his leg with a contented sigh.

Sunshine very carefully looked out the window and smothered a giggle.

Well, she tried, anyway.

Techie turned around in her seat to see what was so funny. A massive grin spread over her face, and she turned back to whisper to Al, who laughed. He renewed his vow to make them all pay (a threat that was already becoming stale to his own ears, in light of his failure to exact one iota of revenge so far.)

The Captain sighed, as if his leg were the softest pillow her head had ever touched. Gingerly, he rested his hand on her shoulder, since he couldn't very well keep his arm curled up against his chest until she had the good grace to move away, and it was a bit late to avoid all physical contact now. Unfortunately, the sleeping woman took even that light touch as an invitation to snuggle closer to him, while mumbling something in her sleep. (It sounded like, "One beaming gas main.")

"What did she say?" Sunshine asked, still struggling to control her fit of giggles.

"'I wanna be a glass man,'" Al guessed.

"No. 'Whumping my glasses man,'" said Techie.

"Whumpy _Mc_Glassesman," Sunshine corrected. Techie burst out laughing.

"That woman has a one track mind, even when she's unconscious. Okay, Whumpy McGlassesman it is. Oh, but don't worry, Squishy, she's not talking about you. Dr. McGlassesman is someone entirely different. You're…" She laughed again. "You're perfectly safe."

"Why?" he couldn't help asking. "What does 'whump' mean?" By the way no one would answer, he could imagine…He glared at Sunshine, since she was the one nearest at hand.

"What? _I_ don't know what it means. Al?" Al just laughed.

"What does it mean?" Crane demanded giving Techie's seat an emphatic shove. She turned around.

"It means, Mr. Squishity, that she wants to use her whumpin' stick to beat her favorite glasses-wearing scientist to within an inch of his life, and then kiss it better."

_What?_

He glanced down at the young woman contentedly snuggling with his kneecaps. She didn't _look_ like someone who would enjoy administering a savage beating to someone she liked.

And who was her favorite glasses-wearing scientist, if not him?

"I should have seen that coming," he muttered, and tried halfheartedly to push her away. She didn't take the hint. Not that he had expected anything different.

As galling as it was to admit defeat, he had to give up. He was tired, and she wasn't going to be moved. And since there were no "whumpin' sticks" in the immediate vicinity, it was probably not worth the effort to try.

Amazingly enough, about an hour later, even with a strange woman passed out in his lap and three more all around him, he managed to drop off into something like sleep.

Well, he had done stupider things in his lifetime. Plenty of them.


	11. How to deal with a cliffhanger

"Like kittens in a basket."

The voice jolted him into full consciousness so suddenly, he found himself reaching for his toxin before he had any idea what was going on.

Of course, his entire lab had gone up in smoke, toxin included, along with everything else he owned. Supplies, weapons, books…

He glared at the first thing that caught his attention, which happened to be Sunshine, leaning over him, one hand outstretched to shake the Captain awake. She flinched.

He transferred his glare to Al and Techie, who were smirking at him from the front seat.

"What are _you_ looking at?" he snapped.

"Someone's feeling better! We stopped for gas. Need a restroom break?" asked Al.

"Anything to get away from _this_." He gave the Captain a shove that finally woke her up.

"Whuh?" She sat up, scrubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands, mumbled something unintelligible, and promptly fell over against Sunshine's shoulder.

"You go on, Squishykins. I'll get her moving." Al's grin was oddly malicious. He was almost tempted to stick around to see what she had in store for her friend. Knowing Al, it was going to be something unspeakable.

Not that he cared. She could be as creative as she wanted. It was none of his concern.

"My name is _not_ Squishykins," he snapped.

"Okay, Jonathan," she said gamely. "But, listen, if you want to leave us, please don't just sneak away while we're not looking. We came to help, not kidnap you."

"I heard you the first time." That didn't mean he _believed _her, but he understood what she was trying to say—that he was free to leave at any time.

He almost wished she would stop saying that. It would have been easier on his conscience if he could have said he wasn't there willingly.

(Conscience…_that_ certainly wasn't the right word for it. Self-respect, that was more like it. As in, no self-respecting villain would allow himself to be _rescued_ this way. Not that he had really been given a choice—and somehow, that did something to soothe his damaged pride.)

He left them, and then, in spite of deep misgivings, he came back.

After all, he asked himself somewhat facetiously, what was the worst that could happen?

When he returned to the car—that same navy blue SUV he remembered from all those years ago—he found the girls standing in a cluster in front of the gas pump. The Captain was wide awake and panicking.

Fascinating. What brought that on?

"No," she insisted as he walked up behind her. She turned to him with a pleading expression on her face. "Jonathan! Talk to them. _Please_."

He could only stare at the woman in surprise. Had she lost her tenuous grip on sanity? Why was she looking to _him_ for help?

"You're not getting out of this, Captain," Al taunted, jingling the keys at her friend. "I'm tired, and it's your turn."

"But—Sunshine?"

"I drove yesterday."

"Damn. Techie?"

"I don't have a license."

"You—you don't? How did you get down south?"

"Very carefully."

The Captain blew out a long breath and turned back to Crane with that same pleading look.

"Don't ask him! He's our guest," Al said. "He doesn't have to pull his weight. You do."

"But I'm the Captain," she said pathetically.

"What are you afraid of, Captain?" asked Sunshine.

"The Captain always goes down with the ship!"

"So don't let the ship go down."

"But it _will_! Bad things happen when I drive. Things _explode_ when I drive."

"Always?"

The Captain took a deep breath and recited very rapidly, "'What was that bang? Why is there smoke coming out of the air conditioner?' 'Oh, my god, was that a possum or a dog? Did I hit the possum-dog?' 'Hand me the duct tape. I need to do some auto repair.' 'What's that? Sounds like morse code for _you're going to die_.' 'Make the tire stop flapping, Daddy, make it stop!' 'What's that hissing—there's a snake in the engine!' 'Why won't it stop swerving? Someone get me out of this deathtrap!' 'What the hell just fell out of the bottom of the car?' 'What do you mean, I melted the engine?' 'What do you mean, the jumper cables are labeled backward?' 'What do you mean, _bear traps_ in the road?' 'Go back to Ontario, Swervy McJackass!' 'Jesus, if my car doesn't drop dead in the middle of the highway, I promise I'll go to church tomorrow. Fine, then! Hail Satan!' 'Ah, the seductive, high-pitched whisper of metal on metal. You think that's a bad thing?' 'Wait—that's no driveway, _it's a cliff_!'"

"You said it was a ditch," said Sunshine.

"It was a deep ditch! And don't you still have that piece of tire in your hand from the first time we went to Longboat Key?"

"It's a battle scar."

"You're lucky it didn't get infected and fall off!"

"You're still driving," Al interrupted. She tossed the keys at the Captain, who made no move to catch them. They bounced off her chest and clattered to the ground. "Captain!"

"No!" She turned to Crane one more time.

"What? You don't actually think I would do anything to _stop_ you from being afraid, do you?"

"Fine." She stooped to pick up the keys. "But just remember, when I go out, I'm taking every single one of you with me."

xXx

The car started without exploding. The Captain seemed surprised.

"See? Everything's just fine," Sunshine assured her. The Captain's rigid posture made it clear that she didn't believe that for a minute.

She was terrified. Crane found himself actually enjoying the view as they coasted out onto the road.

"You're going to have to hit the gas eventually," said Al. The Captain winced, no doubt already beginning to regret letting _that_ one sit behind her.

Then Techie yawned, wiping the slight smile off his face. If she _dared_ fall asleep in his lap…

Well, he would think of some fitting punishment later. For now, he made a point of scooting away from her, just in case she got any ideas.

Sunshine put in a CD, something smooth and jazzy, and the Captain finally worked up the nerve to touch the gas pedal—which was a good thing, since they were pulling onto the interstate, and he doubted coasting was going to cut it much longer.

She seemed to relax a bit once she had the cruise control working. Al and Techie showed signs of nodding off—and Techie was leaning towards Al's shoulder, not his, so that was one less thing to worry about. As for Sunshine, as long as she didn't turn around to stare at him, he didn't care what she did.

He occupied himself with staring out the window, not that there was anything to see out there in the gray predawn. Just farmland and trees. He wasn't sure what kind of time they had been making, but he would guess they were in southern Pennsylvania. Amish Country. Not a culture he had studied extensively, but the concept had always appealed to him—that part of him that belonged in a cornfield, scaring the birds.

They passed an old barn that confirmed his guess. The faded, peeling paint screamed out its tasteful century-old advertisement for Mail Pouch Tobacco. (Treat Yourself to the Best.) He'd made his home in a barn just like that once, for a few days, when circumstances had made it necessary for him to take himself far away from Gotham.

That seemed to happen a lot, now that he thought about it.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance behind them, the first sign of life since the gas station. At that point, the Captain seemed to come down with a mild case of Tourette's.

Mild in that she was mumbling very softly. There was nothing mild about the words coming out of that woman's mouth. Any illusions he might have had that she was a well-bred young lady were neatly shattered.

"It's just some commuter on his way to work," said Sunshine. The Captain's stream of cursing cut off abruptly, and she snapped her eyes away from the road for just a moment to give her friend an incredulous look.

"Oh, _sure_! And the man in black was just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise at night through eel-infested waters!"

"Captain, other people are allowed to use the road."

"Not when I'm driving, they're not!"

Techie turned around to look out the back window.

"This guy is coming up on us awfully fast. Maybe you'd better change lanes."

"Sweet Jesus," the Captain muttered.

She signaled very properly, checked her mirrors, and turned her head to look before she let the car begin its gradual drift into the left lane. And even after all that, her eyes kept darting back and forth between the road and the side mirror, as if she expected a flaming semi or a Martian hovercraft to be hiding in her blind spot.

She was really scared. Being behind the wheel of a car brought out the fear in her.

He felt his spirits rise. Now, if only the others would be obliging enough to reveal their—

Before he could complete the thought, Techie grabbed the back of his head and shoved his face down between his knees. He knocked her hand away.

"What the devil-"

When he started to come back up, she pounced and held him down with both hands and a knee. His back registered a strongly-worded protest at this treatment. She grunted in pain as his elbow cracked against what must have been her nose, but she didn't let him go.

"Squishy, damn it, just stay down! Don't fight me on this!"

"Get off me!"

"_Stay down_!" the four women chorused. Hearing the urgency in their voices, he went still. Techie eased off, but kept one hand on the back of his neck, fully prepared to shove him back down if need be.

"What's happening?" No one answered. Cautiously, he raised his head just enough to see what was going on inside the car.

The girls were giving their rapt attention to something outside the car, about even with Sunshine's seat. The Captain was hyperventilating. No one looked happy.

He raised his head a bit more, just enough to see out the window, not even enough for his breath to fog the glass.

Oh.

Even in the dark, his eyes were assaulted by a shade of purple so violent it could only belong to one person.

Oh…

No one but the Joker would drive a car that purple. No one.

He felt his eyes widen against his will. Had the Joker followed him all the way from Gotham? He hadn't even _done_ anything to him! Other than not laughing at one of his jokes, but no one else in the room had been amused by the idea of making a dead baby float with two scoops of ice cream, either.

"Down," Techie whispered. He ducked.

"Why?"

"Because Harley Quinn's looking right at us."

"They're pacing us," the Captain said. "I don't like them pacing us. I don't like them pacing us!"

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it," Al snapped.

"What color is my hair?"

"Black! You haven't had green hair since you were twenty-one. Keep your eyes on the road."

The way she was breathing didn't sound healthy at all. She couldn't possibly keep it up much longer. Maybe making her drive had been a bad idea, after all.

"I—um—guys?" Sunshine gasped. "He's looking. At us. The Joker's looking at us! How does he _smile_ like that?" She sounded horrified, yet fascinated.

"Well," Al started.

"This is no time for a biology lecture, Number One! Oh, hell, he _is_ grinning."

Even the strongest sense of curiosity could not have induced Crane to raise his head just then. The closest he was willing to come was to look up at the Captain, whose wide eyes and chalky pallor would have been most gratifying if not for her earlier prediction that if she went down, all the rest of them would go down with her.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Al insisted. The Captain didn't even blink. "Captain, you're drifting. Captain, you're drifting! _Captain, you're going off the road_!"

There was a thump, and Crane found himself sprawled across Techie's lap. He pushed himself back up just as the Captain jerked the car back onto the road. He fell again.

It was then that he vowed never to put himself in another car with that woman behind the wheel. She overcompensated by quite a lot.

He sat up again just in time to crack his head against the window when they collided with the Jokermobile. For a moment, he was face to face with the very person he had been hoping to avoid. The Joker was still grinning, in spite of what appeared to be a broken nose. Their eyes locked.

Then the purple car spun away from them. Crane turned to watch it shrink away into the distance.

It went up in flames about the same time their tires lost contact with the road.

"I told you!" the Captain screamed. "There's always a fucking cliff!"


	12. How to book a room

When they hit the ground—after a very short drop; it wasn't much of a cliff at all—it took a good minute or two of speeding through the grass before the engine finally coughed and died. At that point, everyone bailed out, fully expecting a massive fireball.

Nothing happened. It was all very anticlimactic.

They all stood around staring for a few minutes.

Finally, Al spoke up.

"You…you killed me precious."

The Captain glared at her. Al glared back.

"You killed it," she repeated.

"She didn't kill it. She broke its will to live," said Techie. Al didn't crack a smile.

"It's _dead_."

"No kidding," the Captain snapped. "I told you, Number One. Things die when I get behind the wheel."

"You _killed_ my _car_!"

"Oh, cry me a river!"

They looked like they were about to come to blows. The others prudently stepped back to give them some room.

"It's my Bat-Blazer! My precious! You drove it off a cliff! I think I have a right to be pissed off!"

"I _told_ you this was going to happen! You're the one who decided I had to drive!"

"I didn't tell you to drive off a _cliff_!"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch!"

"You killed my _car_!"

At that moment, the sound of eerie laughter drifted to them on the wind.

Al looked at the Captain. The Captain looked at Al.

"I'm sorry I killed the Bat-Blazer."

"Maybe it's only mostly dead."

They scrambled for the relative safety of the Blazer before any more signs of life could reach them.

Al turned the key. The engine struggled, but didn't catch.

Oh, she just _had_ to have killed their car. She couldn't have worked her magic on the Jokermobile instead.

"Come on, precious, don't let me down," Al murmured as she tried the key again. "Do it, baby, do it, do it to blave."

The engine made an odd grinding noise and then sputtered to life.

"Okay, so the Bat-Blazer's new name is Westley," said Al.

"Or Christine," Techie added.

"It's bad luck to change the name of a ship," the Captain argued. Al laughed.

"How much worse could it possibly get?" she asked as she eased the SUV back onto the road.

"Don't say that! It could always be worse."

"How?"

"It could be raining," said Sunshine. The girls all started giggling. Crane saw nothing to giggle about.

Then lightning flashed, and Al slammed on the brakes.

"Oh, _hell_ no! I do not do storms! Either someone else drives, or we find a place to stop."

There was a moment of silence, during which no one volunteered to take the wheel.

"Let's find a motel."

"Yeah…and let's leave the car in someone else's parking lot. Just in case."

xXx

"No," said the Captain. Al growled. The rain was starting to come down, and the increasingly frequent thunder was making her more than a little twitchy.

"Captain, what the hell? You've vetoed the last five places!"

"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you don't watch old movies."

"To be fair," said Techie, "_I_ vetoed the Bates place."

"Well, we have to stop somewhere."

"Not Motel Hello," the Captain insisted. Al hesitated, then went ahead and turned in to the parking lot anyway. "Al! No! We cannot stay here!"

"Oh, yeah? Give me one good reason."

"It's biffing Motel Hell!"

"And this should mean something to me, why?"

"I thought the whole point of this trip was that no one was going to end up buried alive with their vocal cords cut out. If I was wrong, then by all means, stop the car and get out."

Al turned the key to kill the engine. The Captain threw up her hands in disgust.

"Who's going in with me?" Al asked with a patently false sense of cheer.

"I am," said the Captain. "And if I don't like the guy behind the counter, you have to _listen_ to me!"

"I make no promises."

They were still bickering when they went inside. Crane got out of the so-called Bat-Blazer to stretch his legs…and maybe to get away from Techie and Sunshine, not trusting their considerate natures to last the night. Or day, as the case may be.

This day was going to be cold, wet, and generally unpleasant, and he wouldn't mind sleeping through it—as long as he had a room to himself, that was. He was _not_ sharing space with those women if he could help it.

And speaking of _those women_, Techie and Sunshine were following him out of the car. He stalked over to the dry area near the wall, hoping they wouldn't come too close.

They did.

He glared at them, and only then realized that Techie's nose was bleeding. Oh…he supposed that was partially his fault. He fished through his pocket and came up with a crumpled handkerchief he had taken off a victim on a whim.

She blinked at him in surprise when he held it out to her.

"What's that for?"

"Your nose. I'd prefer not to be bled on."

She touched her finger to the blood, gave a little start of surprise, and took the handkerchief.

"Oh. Thanks."

He grunted at her and hoped she wouldn't read too much into the gesture. Honestly, he just didn't want to look at her grubby face. If she wasn't going to stay away from him, she might as well try to clean herself up a little.

Crane leaned against the wall as far from the girls as he could get without giving them incentive to follow him, and stared out at the murky sunrise. He wondered how they were paying for this.

Now that he had given the handkerchief away—and once she used that, he wasn't going to take it back—his worldly possessions consisted of the clothes he was wearing, a slightly bent nickel, and a crumpled piece of paper in his back pocket. He didn't even have any toxin on him—Ivy's vines had made sure of that before she came anywhere near him. He didn't even know if the toxin would work on her…it would be interesting to find out someday.

_Very_ interesting. He would have to try it as soon as he could.

He spent a few minutes imagining the sound of her screams. What would a woman like that be afraid of? Pesticides? Toxic waste? Chainsaws? He would love to take a chainsaw to her limbs…

"I hope they're not dead yet," Techie said, her voice muffled by the scrap of cloth she was holding to her nose. "I don't feel like running _again_."

"Jinxed it," said Sunshine, as Al and the Captain came running out of the front office. They looked pleasantly frightened, but there was nothing visibly chasing them, so Crane didn't bother panicking.

"We're not staying here," Captain Obvious informed them.

"Should we be running like hell?" asked Techie.

"No. Well…maybe. Like heck, at least."

Al sighed.

"It's not a problem. Let's just go next door."

They all looked at the sign for the next place, an old, weatherbeaten affair proclaiming "Overlook Motel" to anyone who cared to look.

"That…doesn't seem right," the Captain said with a frown.

Techie and Sunshine exchanged a glance with each other, and then with Al. Apparently, they all decided that if the Captain couldn't remember why the name should have bothered her, they weren't going to share the information.

Crane resisted the urge to smirk. Even he knew this one. More than one person in his experience had listed _The Shining_ as the scariest movie and/or book of all time. When he had finally gotten around to reading it, he had been moderately impressed at best. It wasn't the worst thing he had ever read, it was even occasionally frightening, but very little of it had actually impressed him, beyond the line, "The arguments against insanity fall through with a soft shurring sound," which he'd thought had a nice ring to it and bore use in future sessions. He did, however, remember the name of the setting.

And the Captain looked as if she thought she _should_ remember, but couldn't. He found her look of confusion more amusing than he probably should have.

He hoped he could see the look on her face when they told her. Or, at least, that he could hear her scream when it suddenly occurred to her in the middle of the night.

They crossed the parking lot to the other motel. Once again, Al and the Captain went inside while the others waited.

The rain subsided to a gentle mist. No one spoke. A less paranoid man might have relaxed.

It was a good thing Jonathan Crane was the paranoid type. Less than thirty seconds after going inside, Al and the Captain came running back out.

"Back to the car!" Al yelled.

The Captain looked like she wanted to say, "I told you so," but she was too busy dodging a swinging axe.

Crane took a look at the man chasing them, and agreed with Al's assessment of the situation. "Back to the car" was the best idea he'd heard all week.

It just _figured_ there would be an axe-wielding maniac inside at least one of the hotels they tried. Things couldn't possibly go _well_ for them. What kind of silly idea was that?

The beautiful thing was, he ran faster than any of them. That was _definitely_ good to know. If they got out of this, he would know he could outrun them in the future.

This time, he found himself in the front seat, next to Al, but with enough space between them that he could imagine himself secure. He didn't like not being able to see the ones in the back, but some things just couldn't be helped.

The three of them shrieked when the back window shattered. Al hit the gas. Crane looked behind him to see the figure of the man from the Overlook shrinking into the distance, waving a fist. The Captain was leaning over the back of her seat to pick something out of the broken glass.

She came up holding a bloody axe. Sunshine stared at her. Techie _glared_ and laughed at the same time, which made for an interesting effect.

There was only one obvious question, which Techie obligingly asked in short order.

"Mon Capitan…what did you _do_?"


	13. How to use a screwdriver

They decided not to stop again. Fortunately, the rest of the trip was uneventful.

Somewhere in Georgia, Al's cell phone rang. The Captain answered for her.

"Hello? You don't say." She laughed. "You don't say. You don't say. You don't say!"

"Who is it?" Techie asked dutifully.

The Captain missed the opportunity to continue the joke by replying, "Hugh. They got our license plate number. The fuzz have been asking questions."

"So we're boned, then?" Al asked mildly.

"Pretty much. No turning back from a life of crime now."

Al just shrugged and took them off the interstate at the next exit.

Crane took the opportunity to stretch his legs while they got out to change the plates. (Where they had gotten the extras, he wasn't quite sure and, moreover, didn't care.) Rosemary followed at a respectful distance. She was unobtrusive enough that he didn't mind _too_ terribly. At least she was showing no inclination to touch him. And there was something about her that was a little less creepy than the dogged affection the other girls kept showing. She seemed to understand that he wasn't Mr. Huggable Scarecrow Plushie or a toddler to be petted and fed and talked down from destructive fits, and whatever else one did with toddlers.

"Why are you here?" he asked her. She looked startled.

"If you don't want me to follow you, I can go back to the car. It's just…they said you'd need a bodyguard. And you have to admit, you _have _been on fire recently."

He winced. Even the outsider was learning their ways.

And he had _not_ been—well, he had been on fire. But it was nothing he couldn't have—well, all right, so he couldn't have gotten out of it himself. He had shown that fairly well. But that didn't mean he _wanted_ them to save him. _Next_ time one of his colleagues showed up with a grudge, _he_ was dealing with the problem, and no half-trained bunch of girls were going to stand in his way.

"I _don't_ need a bodyguard, and that's not what I'm asking. Why are you with them? You seem almost sensible, otherwise."

"Hey, I was friends with the Captain _before_ she lost her mind. I'm not just going to forget about her now. Besides, road trips to the beach are a tradition with us. We always stay in the creepiest hotels on the way down—speaking of which, what do you think happened to that guy at the Overlook?"

Crane glanced behind him, struck by what he absolutely refused to call a premonition of doom. This would be a perfect time for the madman to burst out of the trees, wielding a chainsaw…but nothing happened.

"It's nothing to worry about. He's most likely a localized sort of maniac. That sort is very territorial. I'm sure you noticed that he didn't attack until someone actually entered the motel." He smirked. "Then again, if he's especially attached to that axe the Captain took, he might decide he needs it back. Stay on your guard."

She took him seriously. Delightful.

Crane wandered away from the girl while she was still busy staring into the bushes, drawn to an elm tree that looked…oddly familiar.

It couldn't be the same one, could it? The Interstate had cut through that little grove he had played in as a child, but there had seemed to be so many more trees around back then. And there had been farms all around, whereas now there was nothing but a couple of barren fields. This couldn't be the same place.

But, sure enough, he found his initials carved into the tree—JC and SS, enclosed in a heart.

He picked up a sharp rock and bashed away the evidence of his childish crush. Her death was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He tossed the rock away with an irritated sigh. Did they know where they were? This seemed like an unintentional stop, a simple coincidence, but he wouldn't put it past them to have brought him through his hometown for some twisted purpose only they could understand.

He had never intended to come back to that place again, and now that he found himself so close, the only thing he wanted to do was get away.

He wandered back to the car.

Al, Techie, and the Captain were looking unusually smug. He didn't bother asking why. He was sure it had something to do with one of the monkeys working out how to use a screwdriver.

"Ready to go, Squishums?" Techie asked sweetly. He glared at her. She smirked.

"How much farther?" he snapped. She shrugged. The Captain stepped in.

"We should be there by midnight. Why?"

_Why?_ What kind of question was that?

"I'm tired of the car. That can't possibly surprise you."

"No, I know how you feel. My knees are killing me and I really want to lie down and take a nap. But it will all be over soon. Hungry?" She didn't give him a chance to answer, just took his hand and tugged him toward the car. He snatched his hand out of her grip.

"Don't."

She smiled. He moved past her and tossed himself sullenly into the front seat of the car.

They giggled and followed suit. He watched them carefully, but nothing untoward happened. Rosemary took the driver's seat, with Al behind her, the Captain in the middle, and Techie behind _him_. It wasn't ideal—ideal would have been him alone and them six feet underground—but it was the best he was going to get. He would deal with it.

--

When Jonathan fell asleep with his head against the window, the three in the backseat started giggling again, and not just because he looked so cute.

He did look cute, though. Either he was beginning to trust them, or he was completely worn out. Either way, he didn't look like he had passed out willingly, and he was still fighting unconsciousness even after he had succumbed to it.

He clearly needed a hug.

They giggled at him, and at each other.

"He's still here," Techie whispered.

"I know," the Captain added, grinning spitefully at Al. "You didn't scare him bad enough last time."

"I'll just have to try harder, won't I?"

"No!" they chorused. Al shushed them.

"If you wake him up, I'll beat you both silly. You don't want to deal with a sleep-deprived Master Squish."

"We'll leave him alone if you will."

"What's going on back there?" Rosemary asked. Al giggled.

"He loves us."

"What?" Rosemary laughed. Al looked wounded.

"We gave him a perfect chance to leave, and he didn't. He grew up around here. He could have gone to hide out in his own house, but he didn't. He stayed with us. He obviously loves us."

The laughter that followed that statement was loud enough to disturb their sleeping companion. He shifted his position, and they tried to stifle their giggles. After that, there were no more declarations of lurve on the Squishykins's behalf.

Soon enough, the three in the back joined him in sleep


	14. How to call an elevator

_Captain's Log, stardate: God only knows._

_I had an adventure of CAT-worthy proportions last night. The upshot of this is that I managed to upload a few chapters of this story, which has actually been complete for quite some time, before it all went down. The bad news is that the rest is going to have to wait until I get internet back at home, and I'm...never going to the computer lab again._

_And in answer to a question I was unable to answer at the time, being thoroughly occupied with running like hell-no, I was not arrested. Not yet, anyway. They'll have to catch me first._

_Love from the library._

* * *

Al and Sunshine had changed places in the night, so it was Al who pulled them into the parking deck of the Seaplace condominium just after one in the morning with a cheerful, "We're here! Everyone still alive?"

Crane stared at her, feeling vaguely disoriented. When exactly had he lost his mind and fallen asleep so soundly that he didn't notice _her_ moving around him? What had possessed him to let his guard down that much? He _knew_ she and her friends couldn't be trusted.

Al smiled at him.

"What?" he snapped.

"You're cute when you're sleepy."

"I am not!" He got out, making the SUV into a shield between them. He was neither sleepy nor cute, and she…she…

They were all smiling at him.

He resisted the urge to scream, "What do you want from me?"

"You're adorable," Al taunted. He found himself at a loss for words. How the devil was he supposed to deal with this? Intimidation never seemed to have much effect on her. Playing along would only encourage this nonsense.

But he had to say _something_.

"I…" He was off to a good start. "Nygma is adorable. I am not."

They giggled.

"You think so, too?"

"I…no…" He groped for the words necessary to wipe the smirks from their faces and the near worship from their eyes, and utterly failed to find them. "I…do you not realize I could still kill you?"

"You won't," Al laughed. He bristled.

"What makes you say _that_?"

"Because, deep down, you're secretly starting to like us. Besides, you're unarmed."

He folded his arms.

"I do not _like_ you. Not the tiniest little bit. Not even in the darkest recesses of my mind is there the slightest _hint_ that I would ever think of any of you as more than an inconvenience or a potential test subject. And I will not always be unarmed."

"You'll forget," Al said, undaunted. "By the time you get to your toxin, you'll be distracted by the hugs and sandwiches."

He glared at her.

"I have a very long memory, and I don't _like_ hugs."

"Maybe you've just never done it right," she said with what _might_ have been a suggestive leer, and took a step toward him.

"Freeze, buster!" the Captain ordered. "I don't care how much fun it is, if you don't stop scaring the Squishykins, he's going to start excreting toxin through his bloody pores just to get you off him." Before he could decide which aspect of that to address first, she had the trunk open and was staring gleefully at the bags. "There is no way we're carrying all this up. We need a shakybaby."

"A what?"

"A shakybaby."

"Shakybaby!" Sunshine chimed in.

"A _what_?"

Crane didn't expect to know what on earth those girls were talking about at any given time, but Al and Techie were every bit as confused as he was. He would have expected them to share in the Captain's overzealous glee (and Sunshine's sane-looking pleasure) about whatever this "shakybaby" was.

"I'll go get it," the Captain said. She reached down into her shirt and pulled out a little silver key on a black cord. "Just make with the unloading."

He had some idea that women always packed more than anyone could possibly need—an unconscious holdover from the old sitcoms that had always been playing in the area known (somewhat ironically) as the study room, back in college. He hadn't thought of those things in years, and it had never occurred to him that something so shallow and frivolous would be affecting his mind so many years later. Still, it only made sense; he had no real female traveling companions to compare his ideas to.

Until now.

Between the four of them, they had packed a respectable amount, enough for a week at the beach and then some, but nothing like the mountain of shoes and frilly..._things_ he had expected.

Well, he'd be damned if he'd let them challenge his perceptions. He'd be heading into dangerous territory if he did.

He watched the girls unload the bags, manhandling them into submission. They didn't ask him to help. He didn't offer.

By the time all their suitcases were laid out on the ground, the Captain returned with a luggage cart.

Sunshine giggled delightedly. The others just stared.

"That's a shakybaby?" Techie asked. "That's the thing you've been going on about for a week?"

"Yup. Isn't it great?"

"It's a luggage cart."

"It's a shakybaby." She picked up the largest of the bags and heaved it up onto the cart. The others joined her.

Crane watched, leaning casually against a support pillar—the kind of casualness that wasn't fooling anyone, he was quite sure.

They finished loading. The Captain grinned.

"And this is why you call it a shakybaby." She dragged it off in the direction she had come from.

The thing shook and rattled as she rolled it over the concrete, looking as if it would chuck off the bags or throw a wheel at any moment.

"Those things are like the Chariots of the Gods," Sunshine confided as she breezed past him. "We'll have to race them in the morning." Looking amused, the other two followed.

Reluctantly, Crane brought up the rear.

Until they reached the elevator doors, and everyone stopped.

"What's the problem?" he asked, when the girls had shuffled about and stared at the elevator doors for a full minute without any further action.

"It's…an elevator," the Captain said, her face a vivid shade of crimson.

"Yes, and?"

"Elevator," she repeated.

"You're afraid of elevators?" Her face went even redder. "You're all afraid."

"Well…"

"Oh, just go on and take the stairs, you cowards," Sunshine teased. "_I'll_ ride up with the luggage. Will you join me, Professor Crane?" They didn't even give him time to answer.

"Good plan." The Captain turned her key in the lock under the elevator's call button, and she, Al, and Techie scampered off.

Crane glared at his remaining companion (for form's sake.) She gave him a pleasant smile.

"Have a good sleep?"

"Fine," he said brusquely. The elevator doors opened. She pushed the cart inside. He followed.

"It's too bad you missed the bridge, though. We almost died, you know." She pressed the button for the third floor.

"What?"

"Oh, yeah." The elevator started to rise. "Al has a problem with bridges, and the Captain forgot to tell her about the Sunshine Skyway. It's this _long_ biffing bridge, miles; it crosses the bay and the Captain loves it. Childhood memories, you know. Al just about drove us over the side."

"She did, did she?" He smiled to himself. Bridges. Al was afraid of driving over bridges. Wonderful to know.

"Yeah. She freaked out and floored it just as the guy in front of us blew out a tire, and she had to swerve to miss him. I can't believe you didn't wake up when we clipped the guardrail."

He stared at her, not sure if she was serious or teasing.

She grinned.

He sighed. She was really no better than the others, was she?

The elevator stopped.

"First door on the left," she said, and pushed the shakybaby out.

The Captain, Al, and Techie came bursting out of the stairwell, out of breath and giggling, as Crane passed by.

"Damn. Thought we'd beat you up," the Captain said, then laughed. "I mean, race you, not hurt you." She took another keychain out of her pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, here we are. Home sweet—" Her face fell. "Hell."

"What _now_?"

"The sleeping arrangements. I just realized I…haven't really thought this through."

Yet again, Crane decided his first order of business was to put as much distance between himself and the madwomen as possible. He backed away.

"In what way did you 'not think this through'?"

"Oh, there's plenty of beds, don't worry. Someone will have to take the couch, but I wasn't going to make you _share_. It's just that Grandmother replaced the foldout in the living room with something that'll only hold one, so…I assume you want your own room, so I'll just have to be creative. I can move one of the twin beds out of my room, but I don't know where we'll put it. But, come in." She caught his sleeve and pulled him in after her.

"Stop that." He snatched his sleeve out of her grasp.

"I'm just trying to—"

"I will not be led around like a dog on a leash. So keep your hands off me."

She looked suitably apologetic as she backed away.

"I didn't mean…I'm sorry. The room on the left is yours. Let us take the other bed out, and we'll leave you alone."

"Well…good." He moved aside for the others, already beginning to claim this tacky little bedroom as his territory…the only thing that he could call his own.

Good god, he hated this, and he hated them and the way they encouraged him to be helpless, to just lie down and let them _take care_ of him like some kind of pet.

He didn't know why he hadn't left them yet. That was the only way to put a stop to this—to just walk out. He'd survive on his own. He was _not_ helpless.

And he _would_ leave them just as soon as he had a moment to think.

"Who's hungry?" the Captain called from the kitchen.

Okay, so maybe after dinner.


	15. How to make muffins

Techie followed the Captain into the kitchen, while Al and Sunshine did their best to entertain the Scarecrow. He didn't seem entirely comfortable with that, but, well, he hadn't seemed entirely comfortable with any situation so far that hadn't involved any of the four of them doing anything other than staying far, far away from him.

"We'll probably have to go shopping," the Captain said. "I don't know if my grandparents actually left any supplies. And absolutely nothing delivers out here."

"Good! We can cook for him." They both grinned, visions of chicken soup and cookies dancing through their heads.

There was coffee, which was definitely a good sign, although the tiny little coffee pot was never going to brew enough for all five of them at once. There was cereal in the cabinet and water in the fridge, along with some snacks that had obviously been bought for some of the Captain's younger family members. Not nearly enough to last them, and nothing that would show off their culinary skills.

(And, as everyone knew, while the quickest way to a man's heart might be through his chest, going through the stomach was far more practical, not to mention less squelchy.)

"We're going shopping," the Captain decided. "There's this great little shop just down the street, open all night. You'll love it. He'll love it. We'll all love it!" She giggled, enjoying herself perhaps a bit too much.

"Do you think it's safe to take him out in public?" Techie asked.

"Better question—is it safe to leave him here with Al?"

xXx

"We're going grocery shopping," Techie announced. "Sunshine? Feel like driving?"

"You guys are wusses," Sunshine said as she vacated her spot next to Crane on the sofa. Al quickly moved in to fill the seat. Crane stared at her like a deer in headlights.

"Aren't _you_ going?"

"Someone has to stay and entertain you, Squishykins," Al said sweetly. He edged away from her.

"We should be back in about half an hour," the Captain said with a disarmingly malicious grin. "Do try not to kill each other while we're away."

He stared at them as they filed out the door, torn between saying "good riddance" to those three, and calling out for help.

They weren't _really_ going to leave him alone with _Al_, were they?

She leaned uncomfortably close to him, and smiled.

"We're going to have so much fun together."

The door slammed. The lock turned.

_In space and the Seaplace, no one can hear you scream._

_xXx  
_

They were gone considerably longer than the half hour they had promised. While the Captain trusted her first officer not to jump the poor Scarecrow without due cause, she didn't put quite so much faith in _his_ restraint, especially when under stress. Memories of the Christmas debacle were still fresh in all their minds.

And now, visions of dismembered corpses were dancing through her head. It was almost enough to make her want to take the elevator.

Well, "almost" didn't put whiskey in the jug. They took the stairs. But they took them at a bit of a run.

The Captain unlocked the condo door and threw it open…

To see her first mate sitting on the couch, contentedly watching cartoons. The Scarecrow was on the balcony just past her, clearly visible through the glass doors, staring out in the direction of the water with a book in his hands.

"Um, Al? You okay?" the Captain asked hesitantly. Al looked up with a grin that only someone who knew her well could have read—her own particular blend of apology and sadistic glee.

"Hi, Captain. Don't go out there." The Captain felt her eyelids straining with the effort of widening to almost unimaginable proportions.

"_Why_?"

"Because Squishykins wants to be left alone."

"What did you do to him?" Techie demanded. Al smiled a little sheepishly.

"What happens in Longboat Key stays in Longboat Key." The Captain covered her eyes with one hand in a futile attempt to block out the mental images.

"Al," she bellowed, "what did you _do_?"

"Nothing! Much. I mean, I did find out that he's…a little claustrophobic. Might want to keep that in mind next time."

"Al. What. Did. You. Do?"

"I can't tell you. I promised him I wouldn't say a word. But just…don't go out there. He's not exactly in top form right now."

"We're never leaving you alone with him again," said Techie.

"Hey, it's not like I _hurt_ him! I just…" She coughed delicately.

"He's going to freeze out there," the Captain said worriedly. Everyone turned to stare at her.

"Captain, this is Florida. It's eighty degrees out there."

"Not on the beach it's not," she said defensively. "The temperature plummets at night. If he doesn't feel safe enough to come inside—" She glared at Al. "—he's, at the very least, going to be very uncomfortable _outside_ until a couple of hours after dawn."

"So lure him in with cookies."

That brought an unwilling smile to the Captain's face.

"Oh. Right. Cookies."

"You know," said the Captain, "I've never made cookies without my grandmother's help."

"Well, don't worry about it. Cookies are my specialty." Techie started laying out ingredients while the Captain looked for a mixing bowl.

What she found was something even better.

A muffin tin.

"Techie," she said, almost reverently. "Muffins. We have to make muffins."

"Muffins!" Techie agreed. "Do we have everything we need? Butter, eggs…those paper liners?" The Captain's face fell.

"Oh. Right. We'd need those, wouldn't we?" She brightened suddenly. Techie followed her gaze…to the coffee maker.

"No." She had to veto this idea. "No way."

"Why not? It could work."

"With you involved? No, it couldn't. The oven would catch fire."

"Not necessarily," the Captain protested.

"With _you_ involved?" Techie repeated. "No coffee filters. I'm not feeding him scorched muffins." The Captain still looked contrary. "Captain," Techie said severely, "what did we learn last time?"

"Always follow the recipe," the Captain sighed. "Jeez louise, you burn down one city block and they never let you live it down."

"What were you making?" asked Sunshine, who happened to pass the kitchen door just in time to catch the end of the conversation. The Captain's face went red.

"Tequila slammers."

Sunshine stared.

"I'm never drinking with you again. And follow the recipe!"


	16. How to squish a squashy thing

"Hey, um…Squishykins?"

Crane didn't turn to look at the young woman in the doorway, preferring to stare broodingly at the water and feign interest in a borrowed novel about the sexual exploits of Henry of Navarre.

He hoped it wasn't hers.

"We…cooked. Are you hungry?"

He didn't move as he said, firmly, "No."

"I'll leave some out for you, then. It'll be warming on the stove whenever you're ready."

He made a point not to respond.

Maybe an hour passed, and he found himself becoming unwillingly interested in the political aspects of _Evergreen Gallant_ while he managed to tune out the sounds of the television and the low hum of conversation, occasionally punctuated by raucous giggles.

Then someone screamed. He tensed, imagining what calamity might have provoked such a response. Then he relaxed.

This wasn't Gotham. He could handle any threat that came at him from _this_ place, even if he didn't have four warm bodies to throw at the problem before it got to him.

The door flew open behind him. Casually, he looked up at the Captain.

"Squishy—come here. I need you." She was trying her best to sound calm and relaxed, but she wasn't fooling him.

"What?"

"Please. In the bedroom. I need you now."

"What for?"

She grinned suddenly, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, you're a man…and I'm a woman…"

He pulled away.

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh, will you relax? Grow a sense of humor, Scarecrow. There's a roach in there as big as your face, and I can't reach it."

He stared at her.

"You're calling me in to squash a bug?"

"A huge one."

"Why should I?" What he really meant was, why did she want him to do it? She couldn't be afraid, not of something so small. And how big could it be, compared to the creatures crawling over every surface in Gotham?

She sat down across from him, keeping the patio table as a barrier for his comfort.

"Professor Crane, can I tell you something?"

"Can I stop you?" She smiled.

"I'm being serious."

"Be _quick_."

"Can do. Look, when I was a kid, growing up on the bay—I was there almost two years, you know—those things used to swarm all over my room at night. I started off life with tame little Alabama roaches. Do you know the difference between German and American cockroaches?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Size. The little ones don't bother me at all, and never did. Those Florida monsters, though…I used to be terrified of them. Do you know the feeling of tiny little legs skittering up and down on your bare skin? Do you know the shock of seeing hundreds of the little bastards come boiling up out of something you thought you could trust—like your favorite red sweater that you tossed on the floor because you were in such a hurry to see the eclipse, but then somebody sat on your camera?" He felt an eyebrow creeping upward. She smiled encouragingly. He snorted and looked away. She shrugged. "Do you know the malice in those things, creeping up on you all unaware? It's like they _know_."

"_Know_? They're mindless insects."

"I didn't say they _know_. I said it's _like_ they know. They may not really be malevolent, evil, and totally conspiring against me—they're not spiders, after all—but they still _feel_ wrong. I don't _like_ them, Professor Crane. Call it residual childhood fear or whatever you want, but I _cannot_ deal with having one of those things crawling above my head like the little old lady from _Exorcist III_. Old people do not belong on the ceiling, Squishykins!"

"You are completely unhinged, aren't you?" he mused.

"Yep! Now, are you going to help me out, or do I get to keep annoying the living hell out of you?"

He sighed.

"Fine. Get me a shoe."

xXx

In the proverbial darkness just before dawn, Jonathan Crane lay in a strange bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the surf crashing against the shore.

His feet were hanging slightly off the end of the bed. There was no question that this was a room for little girls, everything small and pastel and covered with seashells. There was even a baby doll in a basket on the dresser, battered, filthy, and missing one eye. And it was quite fascinating the way the remaining eye seemed to follow him when he moved around the room.

Even in a situation like this, the ideas kept coming. At least his work wasn't going to suffer.

In spite of the shortness of the bed, he was far more comfortable than he had expected to be. He was full of soup and cookies and slightly scorched muffins—and in spite of the blackened bits, he had privately rather enjoyed them.

With the door locked, he didn't even have to worry about them bursting in on him.

He _almost_ felt safe.

This was, quite probably, the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

He had the feeling that, on this night, he wasn't even going to dream.


	17. How to get a tan

"We're going to the beach, big guy. Coming?"

"No, I am not coming, and _what_ did you call me?"

"Big guy," Techie repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He shut the door in her face. He knew he shouldn't have tried to just walk out into the living room as if nothing were wrong. A good night's sleep had put him off his guard.

One of them knocked insistently on the door.

"What?" he snapped.

"Don't you want to go to the beach with us?" It was Al this time, sounding disturbingly sweet.

"Why would I?"

"Because we all look so good in our suits," Sunshine suggested. The others shushed her.

"How do you expect to get any test subjects if you won't go out and collect them?" the Captain asked.

"How do you expect to get a tan?" Sunshine added. He cracked the door open just enough to glare at them.

"What makes you think I want a tan?"

"Well, you are pasty," said Al. He slammed the door again.

Pasty, was he? No more than _she_ was. And what was wrong with being fair-skinned, anyway? He only came out at night, and wore a mask even then. What was _her_ excuse?

"Squishykins?"

"Stop calling me that!"

"I made sandwiches," the Captain said. "Why don't you come down with us, have a sandwich and a nice glass of tea, and then you can read your book out in the sunshine. We won't bother you. We just want to make sure you have a good time on your vacation."

He opened the door again.

"This is not my vacation."

"Okay."

"I don't _go_ on vacation."

"Of course not."

"And if I did, it wouldn't be with _you_."

"I'm sorry," she said, looking supremely downhearted. He gritted his teeth. If she thought she could guilt him into playing her little game…

"I'll go," he grumbled. "Since you're obviously so intent on driving me crazy, I'd hate to disappoint you. But I'm not going in the water."

Al hugged him before he could move away.

"We wouldn't ask you to, Squish-Squish."

"Get off!" He pushed her away. "Whether you _ask_ or not, I'm not swimming with you."

"Oh, we believe you."

But, somehow, he didn't believe _them_.

xXx

The Captain's grandfather was short. But he had very good taste. The Captain had pointed him at the closet and _ordered_ him to find something to wear, and his rather fastidious side had been glad of the opportunity for a change. Showering could only do so much when a man had been wearing the same torn, creased, scorched, vomit- and bloodstained clothes for days on end.

Still, he felt ridiculous when he came out in a pair of drawstring pants too big in the waist and several inches too short, and a worn t-shirt advertising for "Lea's World Famous Pies." Among all the immaculately tailored suits and things he would have dearly loved to own when he was a young man saving up for a respectable pair of shoes, this was all he could find that even approached his size.

What really surprised him, though, was the package Al had slipped him when no one else was looking. A week's worth of clean underwear, along with a receipt from the local drug store, in exactly his size and style. It was a little disturbing that she still remembered what he wore from her one brief—_quick_—glimpse all those years ago.

But he wasn't terribly surprised that Al took such an interest in what went on inside his pants. What did surprise him was that she had gone about this in a way calculated not to embarrass him.

He returned the favor by not commenting on the long t-shirt she was wearing over her bathing suit (something of a relief, honestly) her big, floppy straw hat, or the thick layer of sunblock on her face. Still, she correctly interpreted the look he gave her.

"I burn."

Oh, he could only hope.

The Captain sashayed by, humming "Aloha Oe" and rubbing sunblock onto her shoulders—which meant letting the straps of her top hang down around her elbows. At least, with that sarong around her waist, she wasn't offering him much of a glimpse of her legs. Still, he felt it only proper to turn his gaze away, at least until she stopped shimmying her hips like that.

Techie and Sunshine were standing in front of the nearest mirror, rubbing in the sunscreen on their faces. At least they weren't moving provocatively, but they seemed to have no problem showing off their skin in a low-cut black one piece and a red string bikini, respectively.

He shouldn't have had to deal with this. _Why_ couldn't they have latched on to someone else?

"Sunblock, Squishykins?" the Captain offered.

"No."

"But, you'll burn! And a sunburned Scarecrow is not a happy Scarecrow. Come on, try the Water Babies. It doesn't even sting if it gets in your eyes.

"I said—" She was advancing on him with a glob of white goo on the end of her finger. "Don't touch me! I'll do it myself."

"That's a _good_ boy," she said brightly, and wiped her finger off on the bridge of his nose. He began to rethink his decision to accompany them downstairs. That children's bedroom was looking more and more like a good place to hide.

But it was a little late for that. Besides, she had mentioned sandwiches.

He took a few halfhearted swipes at his face and declared himself ready to go.

The girls looked at him disapprovingly.

"What?"

"You have to spread it _evenly_ or else you'll burn in splotches."

Before he quite knew what was happening, he had Al smoothing another layer of lotion across his cheeks.

"Stop!" He knocked her hands away. "Stop _doing_ that! I do not want your help! If, by some bizarre or, dare I say it, _inconceivable_ happenstance I _did_ want your help, _I would ask for it_! Until that day, _stop touching me_!"

There was a long, awkward silence during which they all skewered him with those horrible, tearful _eyes_.

Then the Captain grinned.

"You said happenstance!"

"And inconceivable," Al added.

Good God, they really were hopeless.

One of these days, he was going to come up with a threat that worked.

xXx

The beach was almost deserted. A few middle aged women sat, sunning themselves, far back from the water. A couple of children were playing with the driftwood on the shore, watched by their grandparents. And a very elderly couple was visible walking down the beach in the distance. Other than that, they might have been alone.

The girls were true to their word. After they ate, they left him alone with his book. The Captain settled down with a book of her own, Sunshine spread herself out to soak up the sun, and Techie got to work burying Al in the sand. If he really tried, he could imagine they weren't with him at all.

The sun was warm, the ocean sounds were soothing, and Al's sweet tea was just the way he liked it. He hated to admit it, but this really wasn't so bad.

He didn't even notice when the Captain got up and ran down to splash around in the water, the book had so captured his attention.

He did, however, notice when she came back.

"I'm bored. Come play with me!"

"Gettin' a tan," Sunshine muttered sleepily, and turned over on her back.

"You can tan in the water." Sunshine didn't answer. "Al? Techie?"

"We're building a sand castle. But you can help with the foundation if you want."

"I want to swim," she pouted. "My kid sister would have been holding my head under the water by now. Squishykins? Doesn't that sound like fun?" He didn't look up from his book.

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"But you can't come to Florida and not go in the water at least once."

He turned the page.

"I can and I will."

"Oh, really?" said Techie. Now he looked up to see those three standing over him, and Sunshine starting to get up.

"What are you—" Al and Techie grabbed his arms and dragged him to his feet. "Let go of me!"

"Nothing personal," Sunshine said, as she and the Captain seized his legs.

"You're going to have fun this week if we have to throw you into it headfirst," said Al.

He didn't like the sound of that.

"Put me down!"

"Oh, we'll put you down, all right." They carried him out into the water, laughing. His struggles only made them giggle more.

"Don't!"

"Well, make up your mind, squish face." Al started to lose her grip on his arm; he found himself clinging desperately to her shoulder.

This was all too familiar, in spite of all the decades that had passed since he had last been treated this way. It had been just a little pond, when he was a boy, not the great Gulf of Mexico, but it had seemed just as big at the time. It had been deep enough for him to have come close to drowning more than once when the other kids had tossed him in.

"What do you say, guys? On the count of three?"

"_No_!"

They got him started swinging back and forth.

"One!"

"Please…"

"Two!"

"I can't swim!"

The giggles stopped. They all tightened their grips on his limbs and let him come to rest, solidly between the four of them.

"Really?"

He clung to Al and Techie, panting hard. Apparently, they took that as a yes. The Captain patted his knee awkwardly.

"Hey, we're just playing. We didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm…not…_scared_."

They waded back to shore and deposited him on the sand. Al started trying to straighten his clothes. He jerked his sleeve out of her grasp.

"I'm sorry," she said. "We didn't know." He said nothing. There was nothing to say. "You know we wouldn't hurt you."

"_Don't_." She looked stung.

"I don't feel like swimming anymore," the Captain said. "The water's probably full of stingrays."

"It's too hot out here, anyway," Techie added. They started gathering up their supplies, careful not to look at him.

Al approached carefully, hands held up in a gesture of peace.

"Are you okay?" He backed away.

"Fine."

"Squishy, I swear, I'm not going to hurt you." She moved toward him. He moved back.

"Swear all you want, but stay away from me." He would have run then, but without the keys to the condo, a way back to Gotham, or some other place to go…well, he didn't have much choice but to stay with them. For the time being.

Or he could kill them and take over what they left behind. He wondered just how long it would take for them to be missed.

"Can I take the elevator with you?" Al asked.

"I can't think of anything I'd want less." She chose to ignore that, walking beside him up the path with just enough space between them that he couldn't immediately reach out and throttle her.

She gave her mangled Blazer a longing glance and a dejected sigh as they passed it.

The Captain unlocked the door to the stairs and handed the key over to Al.

"I'm sorry," she said again. He kept walking.

Al stood next to him, uncomfortably silent, while they waited for the elevator. He kept his distance.

"We didn't mean it," she said. "It was just a game." He tried to ignore her. The doors dinged open. "We could teach you, if you want."

Reluctantly, he followed the woman into the elevator.

"Teach me?" he repeated.

"To swim. You really should know how. You never know when you might need it."

"It isn't important."

The elevator started to rise. She grabbed onto the metal handrail behind her, looking sick. That almost made up for her impudence.

"I had a brother," Al said quietly. "He drowned." Crane kept his eyes on the door. "My mom made absolutely sure sure I knew how to swim. It must have killed her to put me in the water, but she knew how _important_ it was for me to learn how. She didn't want to lose another of her children at the bottom of a swimming pool." She took his hand, startling him. "I don't want to lose you that way, either."

The doors opened. He pulled away.

"I'm not yours to lose."

"Okay." She followed him out. "Just think about it. Please."


	18. How to settle your stomach

He did think about it. He didn't have much else to do, spending the rest of the day locked in the bedroom with a frilly pink chair blocking the door. He almost came out after they called to him that they were going shopping. Then he heard the sound of the TV and realized that one of them must have stayed to guard him. He didn't emerge.

Night fell, and the girls returned. They called through the door that they had brought food, and didn't he want to come out and eat something? He ignored them.

The sounds of merriment were more subdued than they had been. He didn't mind the relative peace and quiet. Still, when they went to bed, he found it a relief.

After an hour of silence, when his stomach was beginning to grumble loudly, he opened the door.

There was something hanging from the doorknob. Curious.

Someone had left him a robe and slippers. Wasn't that just too much.

He crossed the hall into the kitchen, where he almost ran into the Captain as she was turning away from the refrigerator.

"Oh! Sorry, Squish."

"What are _you_ doing here?"

She showed him her can of Sprite.

"I needed a drink." Her hand was trembling, he noticed, and she looked pale. She didn't meet his eyes.

"Feeling under the weather?" he asked dryly. She shrugged.

"No problem. Family drama. Ongoing."

"Family," he repeated.

"Well, I had to let my grandparents know we weren't trashing the place, and I should have called them earlier, and anyway-"

"Captain. I don't care."

"Oh." She turned back to the kitchen counter, picked up a box of crackers, and thrust it at him. "Eat."

Crane would have protested, but he had no excuse for coming out of the bedroom other than to find food. He took the box.

"Is there cheese?"

Her gaze dropped from his nose to his shoulder.

"We didn't get cheese."

"Fine." He started to go back into the bedroom.

"I'm sorry."

Crane barely suppressed a childish eyeroll.

"Don't apologize for not having cheese," he said.

"That's not what I'm sorry for." He shrugged.

"Be sorry for whatever you want." He moved away from her. She sniffled dramatically. "Stop that."

"It's not _all_ about you, you know." She pushed past him, to the front door. "I'm going for a walk."

"In the middle of the night?" He couldn't stop the words from coming out.

"When else? There's nothing like a midnight stroll for when you want to be alone with your thoughts."

"Or get yourself mugged and dumped in the river," he suggested. She turned back to look at him, smiling faintly.

"There is that. The girls don't like me to go out alone, but I keep telling them that no one would want to go to the trouble of dragging my body all the way down to the river." He didn't bother to point out that they were currently within eyesight of a beach, with very little dragging required. "Besides, if you can't live dangerously, you're not living at all." She opened the door, then hesitated. "Do you…maybe want to come with me?" She looked so hopeful, suddenly, he couldn't possibly say yes.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"To…talk?"

To talk. She wanted to talk. And since she had piled up a pillow and blankets in the living room while her friends slept in the larger bedroom without her, she obviously didn't want to talk to _them._

He must have been out of his mind. If he'd been right in the head, he would have let her go alone.


	19. How to control your breathing

"I love the beach," the Captain said softly. "When I'm out here all alone, I feel like I'm the only person left on Earth. I feel like nothing will ever touch me, because nothing else exists. I feel like I could walk out into the water, just keep going and never look back."

"You want to disappear." It was an observation, not a query. Her head jerked toward him. Crane kept his eyes on the water.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye—nothing more than an indistinct shape just outside the rims of his glasses. She was hugging herself, having lacked the good sense to dress for a cool night. The thing to do was to hold an arm out to her, let her shelter against his body. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. He kept walking.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" she asked after a lengthy silence. He laughed.

"You're asking _me_?"

"You don't care about me. You won't feel like you have to lie." She spoke the words in a flat tone, as if it were a matter of very little consequence, but far better liars than this girl had tried and failed to hide their feelings from him.

"Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?"

"I don't _want_ to be comforted," she snapped, obviously lying. "I just want all my stupid moods to go _away_."

"If you don't want to be comforted, why are you talking to me?"

The next thing he knew, she had her arms wrapped around his waist, and was sobbing into his shirt. When his attempt to extricate himself failed, he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

What was he supposed to do with a crying girl? No one had _ever_ come to him for comfort. He wasn't sure he wanted to give it, but he did want to get her off him as soon as possible.

"You know, if you're trying to manipulate me into feeling sorry for you, it isn't going to work."

She shoved herself away from him, making him stumble back into the water.

"I do not cry crocodile tears! _Ever_!" Then she crumpled into a little ball of misery at his feet, burying her face in her arms. He spent a long moment just staring down at her. Then he nudged her with his foot. She let out a strangled sob.

"Whatever it is, it can't be worth crying over."

She lifted her obviously tearstreaked face and shouted, "I'm not crying!"

"If you say so." He watched her for a few minutes. She made no movement except for the shaking of her shoulders, no sound except for an occasional hiccupping gasp.

Finally, he sat down beside her. He made no move to touch her, and this time, she didn't try to touch him.

"You're average," he muttered.

"What?"

"You asked if you were a bad person. I barely know you, but as far as I can tell, you're average."

"Oh." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and he realized that when she cried, her face turned a really hideous, splotchy tomato-red. He would have to see if he could provoke that reaction again later. But for now, all he was interested in was getting her calmed and back into the condo, so he could get some rest.

"You're clearly a better person than _I_ am, and you seem to think I'm worthwhile enough."

He expected her to give an answer regarding his brilliant mind, or to explain exactly what she thought was wrong with herself. But this time, she stayed silent.

Well, it wasn't hard to guess that whatever of her family she had spoken to had said something to upset her. Whatever it had been-and he really didn't care to know-he privately doubted it was worth all the fuss. He doubted she had any idea what real parental cruelty was like. She was just melodramatic, oversensitive; possibly suffering from clinical depression, but he couldn't be sure of that without further contact, which was the last thing he wanted. If he were a practicing psychologist, he would have given her some Prozac and sent her on her way.

Crane put his hands on the Captain's shoulders, more to hold her steady than to offer comfort. He wanted to ask for the elevator key, but that not-quite-embrace set off a fresh wave of hysterical weeping. She flung herself at him and clung to him like a burr, tears soaking through his shirt in a matter of seconds. His first instinct was to thrust her away and establish his area of personal space, but when she wouldn't let go, all he could do was wait for her to tire herself out.

She didn't. The crying went on to a point far beyond mere awkwardness. He tried patting her on the shoulder. She sobbed loudly and pressed her face into his chest. It was amazing the amount of heat she was radiating. And the amount of snot pouring from her nose. He had never realized just how disgusting hysterics could be.

"You might want to try breathing," he suggested. She didn't answer, which was not entirely unexpected. Then she pulled away from him and threw herself back, lying flat across the sand, and he realized that she really _wasn't_ breathing.

He nudged her carefully. She looked up at him, chest heaving, eyes starkly terrified. All traces of weepiess were gone, replaced by an emotion that was more irritating than fascinating in this particular situation, although at any other time he would have studied her until she passed out, and then left her lying in the sand.

"Let me guess—asthma?"

She made a sound that was half a gasp and half a squeak. He took that as a yes.

"Breathe," he said with an irritated sigh.

She made an odd sound that could only be translated as, "I'm _trying_, jackass!"

"Breathe," he repeated. "Slow it down. Establish a rhythm." He put his hand on her chest, just over her lungs. "In." He pressed down. "Out." He relaxed the pressure. "In." He pressed down again. "Out."

After a few seconds, she caught the pattern and started breathing on her own. He kept up his assistance, forcing her to stay slow and steady until he was sure she wasn't going to lose consciousness. She still sounded as if she might drop dead any minute.

She gazed up at him almost worshipfully. He glared back.

"W-why?" she gasped. He sharpened his glare.

"What? You think I want to be the one to tell your friends you mysteriously died while we were alone together?"

She grinned suddenly.

"Can I tell them you copped a feel?"

He snatched his hand away as sharply as if she had suddenly caught fire.

"Joking! Jonathan! I'm joking!" He heard her flailing in the sand as he stalked away. "Come on—don't leave—I just—humor is a defense mechanism. I'm scared, okay?"

He turned back to look at her. She was still lying on the sand, trembling, looking at him with a perfectly serious expression, and breathing in shallow, squeaky gasps.

"What do you want me to do? Be a gentleman? Treat you like a lady? It isn't going to happen." She looked wounded.

"I'm…sorry…"

"Don't be sorry. Be serious."

"I'm seriously sorry," she said. "I hate…this. Crying, and…bad lungs, and…being…weak…in front of you."

He sighed.

"I don't think you're weak. Now, will you please get that look off your face? You look like you've been caught fornicating with a sheep." She laughed shakily. He hadn't intended it to be a joke, but…well, whatever worked.

"Don't tell anybody about this, okay? Please? Because that's exactly what it feels like."

The only possible reaction was a snort of derision. What was he going to do, sit down and gossip with Al at the beauty salon?

"Well…do you want to go back up?" the Captain suggested.

All he could do was give her a _look_ and be thankful that the bonding session was over. Even Gotham was better than this.


	20. How to hold the elevator

The Captain balked at the elevator. Crane glared at her.

"You want to take the stairs, don't you?" She nodded uncomfortably. He should have been pleased, but the only emotion he could muster was annoyance. "What are you afraid of?"

"Plunging to my doom," she answered promptly. "But I won't make you take the stairs. We can…" She looked at the elevator and gulped. He sighed.

"Take the stairs. I can survive thirty seconds in an elevator by myself."

"But you need the key…"

"So unlock the door to the stairwell, and then give the key to me. Just like you've been doing ever since we got here." She blushed.

"Oh, Squishykins, you really are a genius."

He couldn't think of an appropriate response to that, so he just gave her a push toward the stairs. She unlocked the door and, holding it open, handed him the chain with its single silver key.

"Race you to the top?" she said cheerily—a rather stupid suggestion from someone who had just had a serious asthma attack and could barely stand up. He rolled his eyes and waited for the door to slam shut before he turned the key to call the elevator. The thing rumbled to life, an elderly and not particularly well oiled machine, but certainly not anything he would have been afraid of.

At least, not until the doors opened.

The elevator was _occupied_.

A single step backward was all he had time for before, with twin blurs, one purple, one red, a mismatched pair of hands seized the front of his shirt and dragged him inside the elevator. Everything spun crazily around him as his feet lost contact with the ground. He lashed out wildly, but the only thing his foot came into contact with was the row of buttons by the doors, which slid shut with a cheerful ding as he was slammed against the rear wall.

As the elevator started to rise, he found himself staring dazedly at the Joker and Harley Quinn.

"Hi, Professor Crane," Harley chirped.

"Engh," he replied, straining against the forearm flung across his throat. Being pinned to the wall, lovely, he hadn't experienced this in at least three days. His feet scrabbled against the wall about half an inch above the floor.

"Morning," the Joker said brightly.

Crane responded much the same way he had replied to Harley.

This might turn out to be a problem, breathing being such an enjoyable experience, normally. He could almost have brought himself to feel moderately guilty for enjoying the Captain's earlier difficulty, if he hadn't been so utterly absorbed in his own problems.

"What do you want?" he said—or tried to. It came out sounding more like an inarticulate wheeze. Somehow, the Joker managed to interpret the question correctly. Or maybe he was just speaking at random. There was no telling.

"You know, I'm awfully upset about the loss of my car."

Crane would have been perfectly willing to make an apology if he'd been able.

"And who were those _fascinating_ ladies chauffeuring you around?"

"Nnguh…" Straining, he pushed the Joker's arm away enough to inhale for the first time in what felt like an hour. His head stopped spinning quite so much, and he managed a glare. "No friends of _mine_," he spat. "If you want revenge, I suggest you take it up with them. And _let me down_."

"Oh, no, not just yet, Scary."

It was almost comforting to be confronted with a nickname that wasn't some form of "squish."

"What do you want from me?" he repeated. The Joker just leaned against him with all his weight, grinning dementedly. Crane struggled to push away the arm, failed utterly, and resigned himself to impending death.

With a happy little ding, the doors slid open.

He found himself face to face with four young women and their rolling cage of doom.

"Squishy!"

"Squishy?" the Joker repeated with a giggle just before the girls shoved their luggage cart forward and knocked him flat. Crane's feet hit the floor, and his knees buckled. He turned the fall into a roll, pressing himself into the corner where he would be out of the way. He reached for his mask, only to have his fingers close around empty air. Damn it to hell. Well, if he held his breath and kept his face turned away, he might not get a _fatal_ dose of Joker Venom when the clown decided he was tired of people who couldn't take a joke.

"Leave him alone! He's _ours_!" There was a thump as the luggage cart hit the Joker again.

"I am not," Crane protested. They all ignored him.

Harley let out quite the battle cry as she tackled Al, the one closest to her. They hit the floor and rolled out of the elevator together, wrestling in a way that seemed almost calculated to get a rise out of the men present.

The doors started to close.

"Hold the elevator!" the Joker said merrily, and shoved the cart back at the girls. The Captain went sprawling, blocking the doors. They opened again.

Techie looked nervous about facing the Joker, but she put up her fists and grinned. She didn't even flinch when he laughed in her face.

They shared some snappy banter, most of which was lost on Crane, focused as he was on edging toward the elevator door.

A hand came down on his elbow, and he struck out before he realized it was the Captain. She dodged his blow, shushed him, and gave his arm a tug, indicating his original destination. He let her pull him out.

"Are you hurt?" she demanded, checking him over frantically. He pushed her away.

"I'm fine."

Al and Harley went rolling past, tearing at each other's hair.

Sunshine yelled something about "doors."

"Oh, _shit_!"

The Captain released her grip on his shoulders and ran for the elevator—too late. The doors were closed. The elevator was gone.

Frantic button-pressing didn't call it back.

The look on her face was priceless when it occurred to her that her friend was trapped in there with Gotham's most notorious mass murderer. He had never seen anyone go that pale that quickly without any help from him.

"Take the stairs," he suggested with a smirk.

She ran.

Sunshine hesitated, but followed her friend.

Crane stayed where he was, watching the tussle between Harley and Al. He had the feeling that, whatever happened down there, this was the one he wanted to see.


	21. How to drive the machine of the gods

The Captain was not interested in cars. She had perfectly good reason not to _like_ them; in fact, she did everything she could to stay away from them. However, as in many aspects of her life, she knew more about them than the casual observer might have surmised—and not just about blowing them up.

Although, this time, the possibility of explosion was foremost in her mind when she stopped in the doorway to stare. Sunshine collided with her back.

"What is it?"

"It's a '79 Ford Pinto," she answered dreamily. The shorter woman stood on her tiptoes to see around her friend.

Rosemary didn't see the Pinto, but she was just in time to see the Joker run headfirst into the door of the Bat-Blazer in a moment of absolutely inspired physical comedy.

The Joker wasn't laughing—sour grapes, one had to assume—and neither was Techie, who was too busy flying by the seat of her pants to realize just how well she was doing. She slammed the car door—not the best movie, taking down the barrier—and ran.

"So, a comical chase scene," The Captain muttered with an irreverent giggle. "Hey, Ops!" she yelled. "Over here!"

It was then that the axe-wielding maniac popped out of the bushes.

"Oh, my _God_!" Sunshine yelled. "The guy from the hotel? What did you _do_ to him?"

"Huh. I guess he was attached to that axe, after all."

"This is serious!"

"It's always serious."

"This time it's _really_ serious!"

Techie ducked as the maniac swung at her. It could have been rehearsed, the way his fist cracked across the Joker's jaw and knocked him flat. Techie sidestepped and started to run for the relative safety of the stairs and her friends.

Then she stopped, fascinated by the spectacle unfolding before her.

Mr. Maniac took a hit of Joker Venom to the face, and began to change, his face splitting into a twisted smile. Giggling, he threw himself at the Joker. Techie watched, rapt.

"Run, stupid!" Sunshine yelled, when she realized that the Captain was just as transfixed as her friend. Techie tore her gaze away from the sight of the Joker being throttled by the random madman as his face twisted in a grotesque parody of the Joker's own maniacal grin.

Then she stopped, even with the Pinto parked across from their Blazer, and smirked.

"Keys," she said simply. The Captain laughed.

"Oh, jeez, Techie, that's my job." Techie just shrugged and got behind the wheel.

The Captain pulled Sunshine inside the stairwell and let the door swing shut.

"What's going on _now_?" Sunshine demanded.

"The same thing that always happens when _I_ get behind the wheel of a car. Something spectacular."

"But—"

A massive explosion from outside—massive to Sunshine's untrained eye, anyway—knocked them both off their feet, rattling the door in its frame. The Captain laughed delightedly.

"Oh, I should have driven a Pinto."

"What was _that_?" Sunshine wailed.

"An explosion. Haven't you ever dealt with a supervillain before?" She opened the door just in time to usher a singed and smoking Techie into the stairwell.

Sunshine gaped at the flaming destruction outside.

"You _blew up_—you backed that thing into Al's car! She's going to kill you!"

The Captain shut the door.

"Technically, I backed into Mr. Axe Murderer, and _he_ backed into the Blazer. At least he's been reunited with his weapon."

"I wonder who he was," the Captain said thoughtfully. "I bet his initials were D.E.M."

"Does it matter? He's gone now. It's over."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

"You know what?" said Sunshine. "I think I'm ready to go home now. I've had enough. Feel free to call me when you need a good lawyer—and, believe me, sooner or later you will." She hesitated. "You didn't…_kill_ him, did you?"

"Who, Mr. Axe Murderer?"

"No, the Joker."

Techie laughed.

"I sure hope not."

Sunshine's eyes lit up with sudden understanding.

"Oh, I get it! You blow up the guy who's attacking him, save his life, and you figure he'll lay off on you _and_ Professor Crane, out of gratitude. Right?"

Techie and the Captain smirked at each other.

"Nope," said Techie. "I just like blowing stuff up."

"Sometimes an explosion is just an explosion."

Sunshine threw her hands up in despair.

"Can we just get out of here, please?"

"Sure." The Captain led the way up the stairs. "I'd like to get back to the mainland, anyway. I wanted to show you the old circus grounds. When I was a kid, my grandparents lived over by the winter campground, and…well, meeting Mr. J. sort of reminds me of the old days." She twirled around, humming a snatch of "The Man on the Flying Trapeze."

"_What_ old days?"

"Oh, Grandmother had high hopes for me to marry into the Flying Graysons, but the boy was too young for me. I was better on the tightrope, anyway."

"You trained with the Flying Graysons?" Sunshine asked skeptically. The Captain laughed.

"Sort of. Not really. I went to circus camp for a week when I was eight. But I half-assed the whole thing. I wanted to go to space camp. I really was a rotten kid." She opened the door to the third floor. There was no sign of the others.

"Is that where you learned to juggle?" Sunshine asked.

"Oh, no. I learned that at school. Do you think the Joker's on fire?"

She unlocked the door to the condo, and the three of them walked in on Al, Harley, and the Scarecrow having tea and…muffins, the closest thing to crumpets they could find at such short notice.

Al looked up at Techie and smiled.

"Your hair's on fire. What did we miss?"

Techie could have replied with the exact same question—but she didn't.

"Nothing much," she said. "Is there any more tea?"


	22. How to survive the denouement

Several days later, somewhere off the coast, in a sailboat that the Captain swore (with a sardonic grin) that she had every right to borrow, she, Al, and Techie were getting thoroughly sick of each other's company.

Sunshine, a woman of her word, was gone, once more a simple student and an upright citizen. And it _was_ good to know that, if they could hold out for a couple more years, they would have a lawyer on their side.

Harley and, presumably, the Joker were off doing god knew what, probably back in Gotham. All that mattered was that Al and Harley had discovered that they had too much in common to murder each other, and had decided to become pen pals instead. (Without exchanging addresses—it had made perfect sense at the time.) And her Puddin' had been sidetracked, or so they could safely assume.

And their Squishy had gone as well, back to his childhood home, alone and as safe as he could hope to be.

They couldn't help worrying about him anyway, of course.

"Do you think he's eating right?" Al asked, jiggling the fishing line she had left trailing in the water. After four and a half hours, there was still nothing hooked. The Captain glared at her.

"For the last time, _no_. We _know_ he's not eating right. He's probably not eating at all."

"You could sound a little less happy about it," Al grumbled.

"Who said I was happy?" The Captain got up to pace, making the little boat rock alarmingly.

"Will you sit down?" Techie snapped. "God, I can't take another minute of this!"

For a few moments, they all sat in silence. Then the Captain sighed.

"Do you think this is just nerves and the close quarters, or…is it time to put an end to this?"

"You mean, break up the team?" asked Al.

"Maybe we're not cut out for all the stress and rigors of a life of crime. And if we can't spend three days together on a boat without turning on each other…well, 'together forever through thick and thin' may not work out so well, after all."

"What are you saying?" Techie asked. "This can't be the end of CAT."

"Of what?"

"Oh, just something Eddums said once. Captain, Al, Techie—C-A-T."

Al smiled.

"Meow."

They all laughed.

"I wonder if _he_'s eating right."

"It can't hurt to check."

"We should probably find out before we go and do anything drastic."

"Group hug!" the Captain cheered suddenly, and tackled her friends. They all hit the deck together.

"Ow."

"I wish you'd stop doing that," Techie sighed. "I like my spleen right where it is."

"Then you should stop doing things that make me want to glomp you." They helped each other up. "Anyway, we do have one last piece of unfinished Squish-business to take care of."

"Does that mean we're going back on dry land?" Techie asked. The Captain nodded. Techie grinned. "Guard your spleen, Mon Capitan. You're about to be glomped."

The Captain resigned herself to it.

Of course, that was before she realized it was going to capsize the sailboat.

xXx

Four days of solitary introspection in his great-grandmother's house had led Jonathan Crane to one single, inescapable conclusion: he hated the south. He hated the people. He hated the heat. He hated the sun and the dirt and the fresh air and the rolling hills. He hated farms and crops. He hated ruined plantations like this one, kept as crumbling monuments to a forgotten time that no one really wanted to remember. He hated small towns and small minds.

And the cities were no better, overgrown backwoods towns pretending to be something more than they were.

He wanted to go back to the real world. Back to Gotham. He was ready to go home.

But the time wasn't right.

So, instead, he spent the day in the old chapel, holding a one-sided conversation with a pile of bones that had been pecked clean more than twenty years ago.

Come nightfall, when the birds started coming home to rest, he walked back to the house, through the rotted field of corn that he himself had planted, many years ago, and past the tattered, now headless scarecrow that once been his inspiration. He had nothing to look forward to but a can of beans cooked over a space heater in a kitchen that no longer functioned without electricity, and a night of restless dreams in a bedroom he had outgrown long ago. But there were worse things to look forward to.

Things that might have been signaled by the light he saw in the kitchen window.

Who? Who would think to come to this place? The local legend was that the house was haunted; even children trying to prove their courage didn't dare each other to do more than run up and touch the front door. But anyone hunting him from Gotham would have known better than to let him know that they were there.

Unless, of course, his visitor expected a friendly welcome.

Now, who did he know who fit _that_ description?

He slipped in through the side door, carefully avoiding all the loose floorboards he knew so well, that would creak and give him away before he was completely sure.

He needn't have bothered. Long before he reached the kitchen, the aroma of frying fish hit him like an almost physical blow, and the sound of three female voices raised in pleasant conversation assaulted his ears. He flung open the kitchen door.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Cooking," the Captain said easily. She held her frying pan out to him. "Fish?"

"_Why_?"

"We thought you might be hungry," Techie answered. "Besides, it's got to be a nice change from baked beans." He glanced at the neat stack of cans in the corner.

Well, he was in hiding. He couldn't exactly waltz into a restaurant or a grocery store and buy whatever struck his fancy. Beggars—or muggers—could not be choosers…and that was beside the point, anyway.

"Why are you _here_?"

Al smiled at him as she got to her feet, holding out an untidy brown bundle. Suspiciously, he took it from her.

"We thought you might want this back."

He unfolded the thing to discover…his clothes?

They had brought him his _clothes_, cleaned and mended and bearing only the faintest of scorch marks. The thread didn't match, the patches were obvious, and the tidiness of the stitches varied widely. But…they were almost as good as new.

"What's this?" he asked.

"We thought you'd want it back," Al repeated. "We fixed it up."

"You…didn't have to…" He scowled. "What, did you come to get your grandfather's thing back?"

"No, he'll never miss it. Honestly." The Captain smiled at him.

"Then why are you really here?"

"Bringing back what's yours," said Techie. "And making a stop on our way back to Gotham. We just wanted you to know we'll be around. If you ever need bodyguards, or…just, whatever."

"You're moving to Gotham?"

"Can't go back to 'Bama," Al said, forcing a nonchalant grin. He folded his arms and glared at them all.

"Well, as long as you're going to be around…" Oh, why was he saying this? "I suppose I won't go out of my way to see you dead."

"Was that…a job offer?"

"That's a bit of a stretch," he said stiffly. They all smiled and backed off.

"Of course. We'll just head out now. You look us up when you get back in town, okay?"

"We'll see."

"Well…bye, then."

Techie and the Captain left; Al hesitated in the doorway.

"Are you going to let me teach you to swim?" He glared at her.

"_Maybe_."

"And will you teach me about fear toxin?" He glared harder.

"_If_ you prove yourself worthy."

Grinning, she turned to go. Then she turned back.

"If you're ready to go back to Gotham now…would you like a ride?"

Jonathan sighed. He knew he was going to regret this.

"Fine. Let me change clothes first."

Al squealed delightedly.

"I promise you won't—well, you'll barely regret this, Squishykins." He cleared his throat loudly. "Um…boss?"

"Oh, good enough," he sighed.

"Yay!" She ran out the door. "Cap! Techie! We're going to need a bigger car!"

"I'm glad you said that," came the Captain's nervous reply.

"Why? What did you do to _this_ one?"

"Oh, nothing," she answered. "Nothing at all."

* * *

_Captain's log:_

_Thanks for bearing with me. Hope you enjoyed the story, along with the rest of the CATverse. Now, go read BiteMeTechie's "Don't Make Me Axe You Again" and make yourself a sandwich._

_-3.0_


End file.
